CMS Roanoke
by Jan Lee
Summary: [NOVELLA.] [COMPLETE.] Thirteen days. Thirteen days Ellie, Santos, and Buckell survived in forgotten space above the winter planet Tau Volantis. In those thirteen days, survival was all that mattered. Ellie-centric. Sequel to Liberation; pre-DS 3. Developed with Ragnarok666. Updated Saturdays and Tuesdays. January story #3.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: [NOVELLA.] Thirteen days. Thirteen days Ellie, Santos, and Buckell survived in forgotten space above the winter planet Tau Volantis. In those thirteen days, survival was all that mattered. Ellie-centric. Sequel to Liberation; pre-DS 3. Developed with Ragnarok666. Updated Saturdays and Tuesdays. January story #3.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Dead Space.

**Rating**: M for language and adult themes.

**A/N**: So I get a PM from Ragnarok666 asking if I was interested in writing Dead Space anytime soon since I've been updating some other older stories. I'm interested in _writing_. I say, sure, why not? Here is our lovely labor of love for you.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 1**

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><p><strong>No one dared <strong>to breathe**. **The sub-light flyer shuddered, metal whining, as an explosion rocked them. Clenched in her hands, the control yoke resisted her strained guidance as blue-whiteness yawned open into an infinite tunnel. That eternal blueness was shockspace. Ellie only knew that it would spit them out near Tau Volantis, the mysterious planet that was the Marker's signal source.

Santos and Buckell were silent at their stations. Their computers bleeped and responded to their commands as they diverted power to stabilize life support and gravity. She concentrated on keeping the craft centered in the stream. Should their small craft careen into shockspace's lethal walls, if even a flap brushed against the stream walls, they would be incinerated. Nothing would be left to even put into a jewelry box.

"All's clear behind us. Danik and his goons didn't get through," Buckell said. "Norton must've blasted the shockring."

"Oh," said Santos. Ellie heard her voice tremble. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"Feel good about it. We set Danik's plans back. He won't have the data that we have," Buckell told her. "And with our shockpoint beacon, Norton can follow us through when he's shaken off that Unitarded sleaze."

Santos clucked at Buckell. "Norton's got the data, yes, but that data is in Marker symbols. Who else besides Damara could translate it?" Ellie knew Santos and Damara Carver had worked together a few years ago before Santos was culled from EarthGov's ranks to work on Marker Ops.

"Ellie knows a guy, right?"

Cheers, Buckell. She didn't want to get into it, but her crew would notice any reticence. "Yeah, I know a guy. He's the same guy Norton'll go after. Danik, too, if he's smart."

"Yes? He can help?" Santos asked with some relief.

"He _can _help. That doesn't mean he _will_." And if Ellie was smart, she'd admit that Isaac was as fanatical about avoiding EarthGov and the Church as they were to kill him. "He has a history with the Markers and won't come easily."

"What difference does have a history make?" asked Buckell. "He could save billions of people by translating that data. The whole human race!"

Ellie rolled her neck, felt the vertebrae pop. "He won't see it that way. He may avoid helping for the simple fact that he despises Norton's and Carver's type."

"Sounds like a real nice fella." Buckell's unforgiving judgment rankled with Ellie, but she couldn't deny it. "Some kinda piece a work to ignore the lives of so many innocent people."

"Who is he?" Santos asked. "This guy you know?"

She closed her tired eyes, imagined his salt and pepper hair, the three-days' stubble, his crow's feet that extended to his hairline. He was a ghost who haunted her; he was a reality that could save them. "Isaac Clarke."

Santos and Buckell let it drop when the ship bucked and swayed with turbulence and their dashboards lit up with a vengeance.

It was just as well. Ellie's arms ached from holding tight on the controls. Her eyes monitored the dancing lights of the various indicators and gauges. She calculated and recalculated and was satisfied with the results. Aside from the initial concussive force, the flyer had evened out. Minimally, she relaxed her grip, not trusting the ship yet. It had been a lucky find, she thought, otherwise they'd be dead in the water. It was this flyer that made the next leg of their mission possible.

"I'll check our supplies," Santos said, when things calmed. "While we don't know where we're going, we can at least know what we have."

"Good thinking."

Santos left for the aft, where supplies would be stashed. Buckell remained, and Ellie heard him whispering to himself. She ignored it for now, intent on keeping the ship on a straight path. Her mind wandered to the cool weight that rested under her shirt. The St. Christopher's medallion was given to her as a final sacrificial gift to protect her always. Isaac, she thought, his name a heartbeat inside her, Isaac, I wish you were here.

She winced from her treachery. Remember how you pried free of him? You left him in his shithole apartment, poverty stricken. _You_ sacrificed your love so you could be free. Isaac isn't yours, she told herself. Robert is. Robert, who told her he loved her with a sense of dignity and nobility. Robert, who killed for her and was a constant shoulder to lean on. Robert, who would move heaven and earth to be at her side. _That _was who she loved.

The minutes bled into hours and shockspace stretched out ahead of her, never varying, always a luminescent blue-white shimmer. It occurred to Ellie that they could ride this stream for days or weeks before reaching their final destination. And then what? And then whatever we have to do, she replied to that doubt. Having doubt maddened her, distracted her. She found it difficult to shake off.

"Ellie?" Buckell interrupted her thoughts. He had come to stand at her elbow. She'd been too deep in her thoughts, into riding the stream, that she hadn't noticed him.

"What?"

"You've been strapped in for a while. You need a break?"

"No. I'm fine," she told him.

"Santos texted me our supplies. We've got five military MRE's, two water units, four spacesuits with full oxygen, plus a med-kit, engineer's kit, four flashlights, four blankets, and a partridge in a pear tree."

Ellie smiled at Buckell's joke. "Weapons?"

"And those we don't have. I've got my trusty seeker rifle, though. We'll make do with what we find at the other end. We'll manage."

But would they find anything at the other end? What would they do if they de-shocked, and there was the void of space and nothing else? Emptiness as far as forever? They would run out of oxygen, food, and water. Don't think about that yet. You'll figure it out somehow. You can get your team out alive. Her determination would have to suffice.

"Tell Santos to prep that shockpoint beacon. As soon as we de-shock, I want her to deploy it." Her attention was on the sinuous path they hurtled along. "We can't afford to delay in getting out a signal. We don't how long help will be."

Buckell grunted. "We're strong. We'll be fine, don't you worry."

But she did worry. As Buckell turned to contact Santos, Ellie skimmed the oxygen and fuel readouts on the display screen. They had plenty of each, even for a flyer, but the food and water…they would have to scavenge for more. Surely there would be some old derelicts floating around that they could rummage in. She grimaced at the thought of 200 year old supplies. And God knew what else they would find.

Hours later, when Buckell did take over, Ellie's eyes were gummy and scratchy, and she couldn't keep her eyelids from sliding shut. A crick whined in her neck; her leg muscles had atrophied and she needed to piss. She relieved herself in the tiny toilet and stretched out on a bunk attached to the inner wall of the flyer. The mattress was hard, the blanket rough, but it was a bed. Santos snored in the bunk above, and Ellie didn't mind; she was comforted by it. The brilliant white shockspace left an after-image in her retina. It would go away with time.

She rubbed the medallion between two fingers, kissed the cool face, and schooled her thoughts to center on Robert. No doubt he blazed a trail with the _Eudora_ to pick up Isaac. She hoped Isaac would go with Robert willingly and that the two of them could get along in favor of saving humanity. Or if not that, then saving her, Santos, and Buckell. Her thoughts drifted and she tumbled into a deep sleep.

"Ellie? Ellie, we need you." Her heart leapt high in her throat when she heard Isaac's voice in her ear. She struggled against the veil of sleep, fought because she wanted to tell him how relieved she was he was there, but it was Buckell who leaned at the side of her bunk. "We're nearing the end of the stream. You'll have to take us through."

It seemed she'd slept fifteen minutes, but she was upset to discover she'd been asleep for some time. Ellie's stiffness had spread and her joints cracked when she stretched and breathed the flyer's stale air. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it and took her place at the control yoke. Santos and Buckell monitored critical systems.

Buckell had read the calculation correctly. They were twenty-odd minutes away from the end of the shockpoint stream, which would empty them to the coordinates Damara had translated…the coordinates to Tau Volantis. Fear edged into her, her stomach clenching. A flop sweat left film on her skin as she adjusted their course. Her readings bleeped and chirruped at her; the turbulence increased.

"Santos, maximum thrust! We have to punch through." Ellie clenched her jaw. If this went sideways…she didn't think what would happen to them. "De-shock in sixty seconds."

"Will the ship hold?" Santos asked.

Ellie swallowed. "It will." It had to.

Santos increased the thrust to maximum. The flyer's engines whined and rattled the entire vessel. Ellie gripped the controls as the white stream became a pinwheel of stark light. All the readings were green, but she had to keep the flyer level or they'd spiral out of control. Santos counted down in a steady voice that Ellie didn't recognize until they punched through the shockpoint stream into vast, dark space.

Up ahead loomed a massive planet, white as a dead eye sunk half into shadow. A sparkling halo swung out and around the planet. Several ships floated in the mid-distance- -relics of a couple centuries past. Great chunks had been broken out of them and flung in scattered array. There was a dark moon that presided over everything in ominous shadow. She had enough time to wonder at their arrival, when everything in the ship wailed with alarms and blinking lights.

"Oh, hell," Buckell said. "We've got a problem."

Outside her windshield, Ellie could see red lights spread in an even field as far as the largest derelict ship. Automated seeker mines. Whoever had been left had deployed a fleet's worth of them at the de-shock zone and had spread the minefield outwards toward the planet. Once the mines had locked onto the ship considered a threat, they would pursue until the threat had been neutralized. Escape was impossible.

Ellie felt thousands of unblinking red eyes gleam in their direction. They had crossed the threshold.

Beyond them, she could make out the faint letters on the largest, farthest ship: _CMS Roanoke_.

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><p><strong>AN:** I decided to streamline the chapters as much as possible. I was so verbose in "Reconciliation" that I felt it turned off a lot of readers, so hopefully the slimmer chapters will engage more readers. Let me know of any questions or concerns you have. I love discussion with readers! Next chapter post will be Tues. Jan. 21st. See you then!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Welcome back, everybody. Hope you enjoy this next installment.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 2**

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><p>Ellie had no time to warn Buckell or Santos. She yanked the yoke to fling them into a controlled barrel roll as the red mines honed in on their position. Several detonated, shaking the craft and sounding off more alarm systems. They were already at maximum thrust from de-shock, so Ellie screamed them into a maze of debris where they would have a slim chance at out-maneuvering the mines. Deep in the bowels of the ship, the engines whined with the misuse.<p>

"Fire all decoys!" Ellie shouted. "Deploy that shockbeacon!"

"Roger!" Santos and Buckell yelled in tandem. She was tossed forward across the controls as another explosion rocked them.

"_Now, goddamn it_!" Ellie didn't care about the flyer. But if the shockbeacon was destroyed, Robert wouldn't be able to find them. There was no guarantee that there would be another beacon on any of the derelicts. No, their single beacon held their hopes and survival with it. Isaac would come with it.

From all sides the mines closed in; bright flickers raced through the black void as the decoy attracted a cluster of mines. There was a second's reprieve. Faint, in the belly of the craft, was a gentle thud. The shockbeacon had deployed. No time to feel relief. She banked the flyer away from the beacon and prayed the mines would follow the ship.

Her prayers were answered. More mines closed in, unavoidable like fleas on a mangy dog. Again the flyer was hit, the cockpit was alight with the alarms, as Ellie continued to roll their craft with evasive maneuvers. Their engines had been damaged from the blasts; they were losing speed. It was a matter of time before they would be destroyed.

"Buckell! Santos! We're abandoning ship!" She strained the yoke as far as it could go, narrowly avoided a fast-approaching rank of mines. They bumped together, detonated, and blew a concussive shockwave that sheared some below-deck compartments. "Get to the escape pod!"

Buckell was at her side. "You're coming, goddammit!"

He input the autopilot codes for her as she fumbled with her harness. The flyer continued to howl as low bursts erupted around them. Smoke billowed through the cramped halls as they sprinted along the narrow deck. Ellie stumbled, even with Buckell's firm grip on her arm, toward the escape pod. Metal curled, buckled, and screamed under the strain. Everything was in a chaotic whirl. Explosions continued to tear through the flyer, gutting it, exposing it to airlessness.

Santos already was at the pod's control panel. Her hands flew over buttons and switches and holographic dials. She didn't wait for Buckell or Ellie to strap in before she jettisoned them free of the dying ship. Ellie lost her balance and tumbled into a seat. Limbs numb, she righted herself and managed to click together the harness. Buckell fell into a seat beside her. His soot-smeared features were grim. He looked a hundred years old.

The escape pod was eerily silent, until Santos gasped. "These mines are everywhere! We'll never get past without hitting them."

"Are they detecting us?" Ellie asked. She leaned to see out the windshield. Glowing red mines had scattered everywhere, and the escape pod wouldn't last if one exploded in its proximity. "Do we have any way of detonating them before we go through?"

Santos shook her head. "No on both counts. The mines seem to be programmed for larger ships, so I don't think they'll bother with this little pod. But how can we go forward? No matter how we maneuver, we'll be setting one off."

Ellie glanced around for an idea. There, the airlock. Beside it, the four ancient suits and the rest of their supplies, which Santos had had the forethought to stow. Buckell seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"It's a bad idea," he said, "but one of us'll have to hang on outside and shoot down the mines." He paused, leveling a fatherly look at Ellie. "I'll do it."

Before he had even said it, she shook her head. "No. It should be me."

"You're our pilot and our leader. You're more important to keep alive," he told her. "I'm old and decrepit. What's one more corpse to add to this graveyard?" He gestured with his chin to the dead ships surrounding them. "Besides, Norton'll skin us alive if we put you in unnecessary danger."

Santos swiveled in her chair, her broad nose and gnomish features aglow from the control panel's lights. "Austin's right, Ellie. He's the better shot and has the training."

"And what about his heart?" asked Ellie. "Have we forgotten about that?"

Buckell snorted. "To hell with my bad ticker. I'm oldest and I'm the man and I'm going out there, young lady, and you can't stop me."

"That's just stupid."

"Deal with it," Buckell retorted.

Ellie, overruled, sat back in her seat and watched as Buckell unclipped his harness and went to the glass case with the outdated spacesuits. Buckell had brought with him his seeker rifle, which would be useful outside. He checked the clip and set the gun aside so he could have both hands free to pull on the suit. Everything zipped up and sealed. All lights indicated it was green to go. Then he opened the hatch into the airlock and closed it behind him. It clicked and hissed as it, too, sealed.

As she stewed over his recklessness, she listened for his heavy footsteps. One loud thud echoed in the escape pod as he magnetically clamped to the hull, followed by a series of slow, steady thuds.

"Okay, Santos. I'm locked and loaded," said Buckell over the comm. His voice hissed with static. "Ready when you are."

"The flight path is set. We're aiming for the top of the _Roanoke_, where I'm certain there will be a dock we can get into. I'll go slowly so you can clear our path."

"Roger that."

The pod's thrusters switched on and they eased forward. Ellie was riveted to the windshield, picking out the malevolent mines. One burst apart- -a white flare, nothing more- -then another, then another. Buckell's pot shots at the mines allowed Santos to guide the pod closer to the Roanoke until the massive ship loomed in front of them, dark, foreboding, abandoned.

Buckell cleared mine after mine after mine. Ellie waited for the inevitable. His voice crackled through the comm, "Sorry, Santos. No more. I'm out of ammo."

"We're nearly there. Hang on."

Another problem presented itself. The closer they came to the _Roanoke_, the more debris they encountered. Whole sections of broken ships floated in their path, so that Santos had to swerve the pod up or down to avoid hitting them. Sweat gleamed on her brow as she sat hunched over the controls. Ellie dared not speak as Santos squirted past a couple mines that hung dangerously close.

"We're coming up on the service dock, Buckell. You'll have to help the pod into the bay doors," Santos reported. "I can't do it all from here."

"Got it." Buckell thumped the hull. "Be careful up ahead. You don't have a lot of wiggle room."

This close to safety, concentrating on the dock doors ahead, Santos nicked a clump of debris. The hit was enough to shake the pod. Some sharp edges squealed across the hull. Santos cursed. "Buckell? Are you okay?"

"I'm good. Just a few dings here. Nothing major," he reported, but in the same breath, "Shit! Santos, look out!"

A bright blink- -so stark and white it blinded her. Violently Ellie slammed against her harness. Her breath exploded out of her lungs. Her ears rang, but soon cleared. For the second time that day, alarms and warnings shrieked at them. Santos was limp over the controls. Cracks had formed in the windshield.

Ellie unclipped herself to go to Santos. The soreness where the harness had secured her was a punch in the chest. She ignored it. Leaning over the technician, she saw blood seep from a gash on her brow. Her RIG was yellow. "Jennifer?"

Santos was unconscious, but alive. She could wait. Ellie tapped the audio controls. "Buckell? Buckell, are you there?"

Static answered her. Shit. The pod had taken too much damage; they were losing oxygen. She turned to the case containing the spacesuits. But she hesitated, mistrusting them. Then she berated herself for the pause. Santos had run a check on these suits; they wouldn't be compromised. Ellie didn't think about that as she jammed her legs and arms in the appropriate holes. She had to know what happened to Buckell. As she zipped up, the airlock chimed, and the hatch popped open.

Buckell stumbled in. His hand pressed his side, where a deep red dripped. The blood stained the suit, spread with terrifying speed. Buckell's face was ashen.

"A mine…stuck in the," he gasped before he collapsed, his RIG pulsing with emergency red.

Ellie tore the med-kit off the wall of the pod. She gently pulled Buckell's hand from the wound. Small metallic bits and pieces had embedded in Buckell's suit and a larger piece had reached skin and tissue. Experience guided her hands. When they were safe, she could take out as much shrapnel as possible and sew him up. He was old, but he was stalwart. He'd make it. The best she could do is to pack the wound to stop the bleeding and pump him full of medical gel.

She did that, hoisted his limp body from in front of the airlock. The blast had done them a favor, pushing them closer to the _Roanoke_ and the dock Santos had mentioned. Ellie tried the controls. They were unresponsive. Guess I'm going outside for a bit, she thought, and donned the rest of the suit. Everything flashed green.

After stepping into the airlock, she secured the door behind her, took a steadying breath, and hit the sequence of buttons to initiate decompression. Once the airlock was open, she used her suit's stabilizers to glide out. The pod was unwieldy, clunky, but she guided it to the bay doors. She'd have to enter the _Roanoke_ and unlock the doors before she could get the pod in.

There was an airlock next to the dock, so she checked that first. Kinesis was a convenience, not a necessity, to their ancestors 200 years ago. Luckily, all she had to do was yank out the circular wheel and muscle it in the right direction. It wouldn't budge, but she was desperate and strong, and it gave in after she jimmied it with a length of thin rebar. She spun it a few times until the hatch unsealed and unlocked, opening for her.

Inside the ship was dark. Not because there was no light, but because the metal was a dark grey, almost black. Undaunted, she shut the airlock hatch behind her, cranked the wheel until it locked, sealed, and her suit hissed as atmosphere was returned to the airlock. So there was air _and _gravity, she thought and unlatched her helmet. Those were positive.

Dust made her cough. Fine grit carpeted the metal floors, and the entire place reeked of must and stillness. Under the must was a sinister stink. And where there should be a chill in the air was a damp humidity that she was all too familiar with. The moist heat was needed to change cells, to mutate dead flesh into something living, to change oxygen into toxic gas.

The _Roanoke_ was not wholly abandoned.

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><p><strong>AN:** And play the dramatic music! Next chapter to be posted Jan. 25th. See you then!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **As promised, another installment. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 3**

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><p>She could not worry about what she couldn't change. Buckell and Santos needed her strength, so she would be strong. On tiptoes, she went to the opposite side where there was another door wheel that she had to lever with the rebar. She cringed at the resulting creak. The whole ship probably heard that. More dust, grit, and staleness. Darkness overwhelmed her.<p>

The docking area was completely still enough that her own harsh breathing spooked her. The controls for the bay doors were inside a claustrophobic room that overlooked it. Again, she had to use her own muscles to crank the manual winch that controlled the bay doors. She was thankful that her ancestors considered any and every contingency, so that not having power didn't cause a catastrophe. The old metal groaned, cried as it parted, and she listened for any unnatural movement. There was none. Outside the bay, the crippled escape pod hung.

Ellie exited the control room, returned to the airlock, and repeated the process in reverse. She felt silly that she should feel safer outside the ship than inside, but she hadn't yet forgotten Titan and most recently, Keyhole. Being in close quarters was a terrible place to be during an outbreak. As quickly as she could, she brought in the escape pod. There were some clamps that she used to secure the pod to the dock. Once she was back in the control room, she closed the bay doors, which allowed atmosphere to return to the area.

Everything settled into silence. When would the Necromorphs show up? Could she fight them this time? Isaac or Robert weren't with her, nor did she have an effective weapon, and she couldn't be sure what type of Necromorph she faced. Outside the control room was another door that opened to the bay. It locked if the bay doors were open.

"What…what happened?" asked Santos as Ellie climbed into the pod. She winced when her fingers touched the gash on her temple. Her caramel skin had a green tinge to it under Ellie's light beam. "Are we safe?"

Buckell remained unmoving and grey, sprawled on the pod floor. Ellie said, "We're inside the _Roanoke_, but I don't think we're safe for long. We have to find a better position, one that's defensible."

She spread out the medical supplies from the med-kit. Then she began cutting away the hasty bandages she'd wrapped and stuffed Buckell's wound with. They were soaked with a blood blush. Before the shrapnel caused any more damage, she had to remove it from his side. The bandage exposed angry red muscle and tissue. A sharp metallic edge stuck out from the meat of his side.

"What do you mean, you don't think we're safe? Isn't it better in here than out there with all those mines?" Santos closed her eyes, groaning. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Ellie could do nothing to help her. "Buckell's not doing so well either. I'll need your help to move him if he doesn't come around."

Maybe they could find a grav-lift or something similar. They would have to look, she thought as she peeled away the layer of space suit and took up long-nosed tweezers. Gently, she gripped the shrapnel. She concentrated on steadying her hand and tugging it free. Blood flowed, but didn't spurt, so no artery had been nicked. Ellie threaded a needle to begin the tedious task of closing the wound with even, careful stitches.

When she finished, she tied off the thread and snipped it. Then she disinfected the laceration and put bandages and gauze on it to secure her work. He wouldn't be ambulant until the wound healed some. Hopefully there wouldn't be infection.

"We could carry him on a stretcher," Santos said when Ellie sat back. "It would be better for him and easier for us."

"I'll see what I can do." Ellie had no idea even where they were on this ship. 'Towards the top', was what Santos had said. That gave no real indication of placement on this large of a vessel. "Stay here and keep as quiet as you can. I'll have a look around."

Maybe she would find a map somewhere in the control room. Everything inside was military efficiency, and whoever had been stationed here had left it immaculate. Under the control panels was a glovebox that opened when she tugged at the latch. Pens, some receipts, paperclips, things that were immaterial to her.

A set of lockers was tucked in the corner, so Ellie pried them open with the rebar she'd kept handy. Inside one were a textlog and a moldering uniform. Nothing else. The other locker was more useful. A gunbelt hung on a peg, with a pistol. She checked the pistol's clip, found it full, and in a separate compartment of the gunbelt was a spare. The belt had been for a man's waist, but she adjusted the clip so that it fit hers satisfactorily, if not loosely.

She checked the textlog.

[PERSONAL LOG: SGT. ASHLEY LEWIS]

_So here we are, in the middle of nowhere, in orbit about a planet that's completely made of ice. Drinks, anyone? I kid, I kid. On a more serious note, our CO told us to monitor the science team. Check IDs, check research tickets, keep vigilant, keep on our toes. I'm surprised those guys can work with how many enlisted are watching. I feel sorry for them, actually. They're under as much pressure as we are for results and security._

_Anyway, they're excited because of some 'specimen' found planetside. They're bringing it aboard at 1800. Whatever's down there better be worth the effort. And sacrifice. I heard that there was a facility collapse or something. A couple dozen people went down with valuable resources when a cliff broke off. Just snapped like a twig and tumbled the whole kit & caboodle into a crevice that could fit our entire fleet end on end inside it._

_Makes a guy wonder about what other secrets that planet holds. But they don't pay us to think, or so our CO keeps telling us maggots._

Ellie stepped out of the control room and followed the hall to the left. Pipes and crenellations and wiring ran up and down the walls. Around a corner, she found a cabinet and, to her amusement, the combination code on a sticker below the dial. She input the combination. It had been a medical cabinet for emergency supplies. There was a rough-looking nylon duffle hanging on a peg.

She stuffed as much as she could into the duffle and zipped it, ducking her head under the shoulder strap to let the weight of it settle on her shoulder. Then she continued further down the enclosed hall, her flashlight the single point of light in the whole world. As she walked, her feet slipped from the thick grit on the floor, and she had to slap a hand to the cold wall for her balance. Frequently, she paused to listen for activity- -scratching or shuffling - -that indicated Necromorphs. Perhaps they hadn't reached this side of the ship yet. It was a small comfort.

She came to a larger, circular door that seemed to lead out of her current section. Beside it was a dead screen that perhaps with power, would display the current deck. She examined the console. She could connect it to a power source and perhaps download the map to her own RIG. Her eyes scanned the walls in the leveled work area. Nestled between two stations was a blue cabinet, and when she it slid open, she was surprised. The power node popped right out of the socket, and to her delight, it had retained its charge 200 years later even with no power on the ship.

Under the console, on hands and knees, she pried off the recessed plate and cut and spliced the wires with a pocketknife so they would connect with the power node. On the console, lights flashed, sluggishly alive so far from its first use. She got to her feet, hoping for a miracle. The console showed its standby mode with a cursor blinking at steady intervals. So when the blocky type told her there was a critical malfunction in the system, she was let down.

She'd been gone long enough. She removed the power node and decided to keep it with her. Who knew how it would come in handy? When she returned to the escape pod with her findings, Santos was beside Buckell, his limp hand in hers. Santos had put a blanket over him and had rolled one up to function as a makeshift pillow. She had been softly singing to him but stopped when Ellie entered the pod.

"How's our patient?" Ellie asked.

Santos smiled at Ellie in relief. "He's not better, but not getting any worse."

"I'm healthy as a horse. Stop clucking over me, mother hen," Buckell replied. The churlishness was weak. Heavy-lidded eyes unfocused, his scowl deep, he said, "A guy can't get any rest between the two of you."

Relieved that Buckell had regained his senses, Ellie turned her attention to Santos, who seemed better, livelier. Ellie noticed that a water unit was out, and some empty analgesic packs beside the open med-kit. Santos left Buckell's side to stand closer to Ellie. "What did you find?"

Ellie told Santos about the supply cabinet, the pistol, and the power node; she set the duffle to the floor and rolled her shoulders. "But no map or any clue as to where we are in the ship."

"Whatever we do next, we must set up the distress beacon. That is our priority. If the _Eudora _shockpoints in, they'll pass us by and we won't be rescued."

We may be dead before we even have a chance of being rescued. Aloud, she said, "I agree. But if we're to get a clear signal out, we should be up higher. All this metal will weaken our signal."

"When we were coming in, I noticed central command's spire. That would give us a clear view of the ship and surrounding space. Its height would also allow the distress beacon to give a clear signal," Santos replied. She seemed half in thought. "Yes. That would be the best place to begin. And it would be defensible."

"If that's the case, we need a map to get there or at least coordinates. I don't think we ought to risk wandering without a clear waypoint." Ellie collapsed in one of the seats to massage her temples where a headache thumped. "There was a consol further down the hall. I tried to get it to boot up with the power node, but it had a critical malfunction."

Santos stood. "I think that this escape pod will have a scanner. It won't have the range to scan the entire ship, but every little bit helps, right? We just need a direction. You have the power node?"

Ellie reached into the backpack and pulled it free. "Here. Tell me what I need to do."

Together, Ellie and Santos unlatched the pod's panels to reach elbow-deep into its innards. They managed to wire the pod's scanner to the power node. It functioned, but as Santos had predicted, the scan was short-ranged and short-lived. As they examined the downloaded holographic map, they discovered an elevator shaft outside the large doors Ellie had discovered. The elevator shaft went straight up, outside the scan's range. They both guessed that it would take them to the central command.

"Now that we know where we're going, how are we going to get the elevator functioning?" Santos asked. "We can't run it with a single power node or even a power cell."

"No." Ellie bit her lip as she thought it through. "We need to see that elevator shaft. SCAF was pretty big on having back-up plans. There could be ladders going from one floor to the next. I'll go and check it out."

"I'll come with you," Santos said. "Perhaps I can get the map display running."

But Ellie shook her head. "Stay with Buckell. Check through the pod and see what power sources you can rummage. I can manage on my own."

Santos leveled an admonishing gaze at her. "Please be careful, Ellie. I've got a bad feeling." She squeezed Ellie's hands. "Don't do anything reckless. And keep me posted over the comm."

Ellie smiled, thinking of Robert, whose middle name was Reckless. "I'll be back."

She squeezed Santos's hands in goodbye and once again ventured into the black pit of the _Roanoke_.

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><p><strong>AN:** I admit I enjoy Ellie's head very much. It's nice to break free from writing Isaac every so often. I also love the dynamic between her, Santos, and Buckell. As always, let me know your thoughts and concerns. Next chapter to be posted 1/28/14. See you then.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Welcome back, readers. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 4**

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><p>She felt utterly alone here. Each step farther away from her tiny crew strengthened the hold terror had on her. It was her and a pistol against an entire shipload of Necromorphs, which at any point, would find her and murder her. At least she was used to surviving on her own. She had done so rather well on Titan and had fought with Robert on Uxor and the Keyhole Station. However, she knew everything could change in a heartbeat.<p>

Quietly, so her voice wouldn't carry, she said, "Santos, I'm at the juncture door now. It's locked without power."

"You'll need a power cell with enough charge to open it up."

Even as Santos suggested it, Ellie shook her head. "No, it's too risky. I don't know what I'd stir up by looking for it. And the chances of a charged cell aren't good."

"Maybe some other solution then?"

Ellie ran her hand over the crusty inlaid metal. The door had a crank like an old-fashioned ship's wheel, but it didn't budge when she tested it. "Hold on. I think I have an idea."

To solve the problem, she slipped the iron rebar between the spokes. It would cause a racket, but again, she didn't have another option. Using the extra leverage, she threw her weight against the rebar. The metal resisted, groaned so that the noise swelled in the silence, and little by little, it gave. She broke a sweat, her hands ached, but she used her muscles until the crank spun. Clicking deep inside the door. More metallic whine. At last, the heavy locks released so the door could lift into the frame. She pulled free the rebar and faced the shadows that swam around her light.

"Okay, Santos. The door's open."

"What do you see?" asked Santos, breathless.

"Nothing at the moment. I'll check in with you when I've explored some."

"Be careful. Remember, I'm listening in."

Ellie's stomach churned, her hackles rose. Something seemed to watch her. Her light cut the silent darkness, but did not reach the farthest walls of this new area. Litter scattered the floor, some black blood stains here and there. Here was an aftertaste of chaos and hurry. At one time, this might have been a busy junction- -a tram station, a few other doors, and as she crossed the open area, she saw a closed set of elevator doors. Over the elevators was a sign that said 'Elevators to All Decks'.

"I'm at some elevators," Ellie said. "I can't tell if this'll take me up to central command or not, but it does say to all decks. I'll have to pry apart the doors to get inside the shaft."

"If we're lucky, the elevator car will be below-decks so it is not blocking our passage," Santos replied.

The rebar clanked when Ellie shoved the end into the thin gap between the elevator doors. When she pried, it resisted (she'd come to expect no less) and grated, but spread open for her. At her feet, the void yawned out. She braced against the frame, craned her neck, and could not see if the elevator car blocked her above or below. Carefully, she groped around the corners for a ladder, did not feel one, nor did she see rungs in the adjacent corners.

Ellie squinted into the dark, straining her eyes, but to no avail. "I can't see where the car is and there isn't a service ladder in here."

"Perhaps it's nearby?"

"I'll look," Ellie told her.

She shone her light to the walls and the signs above the various entrances and exits in the hub. At last, she found what she searched for. A narrower paneled door sat in the wall labeled 'Elevator Service'. Again, she wedged the rebar in the crack and levered it open.

Talk about an enclosed office space. Whoever had been stationed here had enough room for a seat and some display panels and a minimal work bench. That was it. Various tools had been hung on the wall, and to her delight, an old plasma cutter. She knew that maintenance staff would use cutters for trimming metal, cutting thick wires, or for repairing metal tubes. The cutter was battered from heavy use, not as streamlined or as lightweight as her generation's, but in Ellie's eyes, it was perfect.

She removed the safety pin, checked the alignment and cleaned the slot and ejector for gunk, and experimentally squeezed the trigger. As sturdy a tool as she'd ever find, the ancient plasma cutter functioned. After a methodical search, she uncovered spare cartridges in a wall cabinet. They were in various states of use, but a charge was a charge and she would take what she could get. She stored the cartridges in a spare pocket on her gunbelt and looped the cutter's handle onto the belt so she could have her hands free.

"Santos," she said to the audiolink, "I'm in the service office for the elevator. And here's some real luck. I found a plasma cutter!"

Santos laughed. "That_ is_ some good luck."

"Not much, but it's better than nothing. I'm heading to the ladder. I'll tell you what I find once I'm there."

Ellie scanned the tiny area. The service ladder was behind a fenced shutter across the opening. An electronic pad kept the shutter locked, but after some artful maneuvering with the rebar, she got the shutter open anyway. Up and down the rusted rungs trailed. Some viscous fluid had slimed and oozed over the close walls. It was fresh and it stank to high heaven- -corruption, she knew. Grimacing, she set aside her handy rebar and clutched the rung with one hand. The resultant squelch revolted her.

"Ew," she said. "Gross."

"What is it?"

Ellie sighed. "There's tissue growth on the rungs. Could be some byproduct of the infection."

"It's not reacting to you, is it?"

"No, no. I'm fine. I'll let you know when I'm up."

But she had a crew to think about, the entirety of the human race. A little corruption shouldn't deter her. She gritted her teeth and began a steady upwards climb. If she got out of this mission alive, she promised herself a long bubble bath in scalding water. No one would recognize her through the soot, grease, and general disgustingness that coated her.

Upwards several meters, a hatch impeded her. The hatch was labeled with the level, and she had to crank a wheel to unlock, open, and pass through it. The crank was in the wall next to the ladder. She coaxed it into working. Access to the elevator shaft and wires was through panels that slid up, with enough room for a person to crawl into. A long column of these panels flanked the right side of the ladder. Every once in a while, she would slide up a panel to check the shaft. She hadn't seen the elevator car.

"Ellie?" The sudden voice in her ear startled her. She'd been alone in silence; she forgotten about Santos. "Is everything okay?"

Ellie paused. "I'm good, but not at central command yet. There are a lot of levels separating us from it."

"You haven't come across any hostiles, have you?"

"No," she replied. Hostiles, she thought, how quaint a term for Necromorphs. "None so far. It's…unusual."

"Unusual isn't the word I'd use," Santos said and sighed. "On Keyhole, we would've been attacked before now. Right? I mean, that's how they operate, by scouring for any life to kill and transform."

"Maybe." Predicting a Necromorph attack was like playing Russian roulette. You knew it was coming, but couldn't precisely know when. "Let's be glad we've so far gone unnoticed."

"But for how long? And when we are noticed, will we be able to-"

"Stop it, Santos," Ellie interrupted. "It's useless to think like that. We'll handle the situation the best we can. We're careful and smart, and we'll make it through this. We have to be here for Robert and John. How's Buckell?"

Santos went for the change in subject. "He's sitting up. Still pale, though. He needs sustenance. We all do, and rest."

"I promise I'll keep an eye peeled for anything that'll help. When I get up to CC, I'll contact you again, okay?" Ellie said. "Hang in there."

Santos didn't respond, and how could she? The whole situation had gone sideways so fast and so tremendously that their chances were already pared to the marrow. What could Santos say? 'Thanks, Ellie. Your words have made this entire bunged operation worth it'? She shook off the disquiet. Santos was resilient, so were Buckell, and Robert, and Carver. And Isaac, she thought. Mustn't forget Isaac.

Then a moment surfaced in her memory, when Isaac had kissed her forehead and his stubble had scrubbed across her skin. It had happened countless times. To her shock, her skin felt freshly scraped, like her mind had conjured Isaac's ghost to kiss her forehead again. The memory shamed her because she had foregone her love for Isaac and had replaced it with love for Norton. Norton was the reliable one, he was sane, and he didn't despise her ideals but shared them.

By the time she reached central command's level, her shoulders and arm muscles throbbed in pain. To let go was suicide. To continue was agony. Trying to crank open the hatch put her close to tears with the pain, but she broke it open and climbed onto an open floor. Her hands were coated in muck and filth, and sweat soaked through her clothes. She was out of breath as she clambered out of the service tube. Dirt swirled in lazy curls in her light beam.

Exhausted, she sagged against the nearest wall. Pain had weakened her limbs into rubber noodles. Tapping the communicator in her ear doubled her over in anguish.

"Santos," she gasped, "I'm there. Santos? Buckell?" Static hissed when the audiolink didn't connect. "Shit."

In front of her down a short, broad corridor was a round door that would lead to central command's bridge. Based on the positioning of the service shaft, she must be behind the elevators, which seemed to open straight onto the bridge. Behind her the corridor went backwards and continued on beyond her small light. She took a step toward the CC door.

But a faint scratch choked her harsh breathing. She shivered and hesitated- -had her imagination played tricks on her? Holding back her breath, she listened. Silence. Eternal silence.

Until- -there! Scratching, so faint, she almost missed it. Where did it come from? She fumbled at the gunbelt, but her hands were stiff from clutching the ladder rungs. Scratches then became a rustle, closer, and she couldn't work loose the damn belt buckle. Panicked, she hooked her fingers under the belt and yanked it up. The belt eclipsed her narrow waist, and she hauled it over her chest and head like a shirt.

Then she saw yellow burning eyes in the dark, trained on her. Her scream was raw, primordial with terror. Ellie lost all capacity to think. She ignored the belt, gripped the plasma cutter, and aimed it down the dark hall. The thing at the far end roared. Around her angry, ancient voices whispered, bounced off the metal doors in hypnotic rhythm. She couldn't snap from the eyes. It came at her with terrifying speed, lunging towards her, too near. Without aiming she fired the cutter, the energy cracking sharp and licking the walls, the floor, missing the thing with the yellow eyes.

One lucky shot severed its leg. The thing stumbled to the deck. Her light gave it shape, revealed wasted, twisted features in a sunken, hollow face. Clothes were tatters on the corpse which the disease had discolored to a fungal black. Arms and legs blackened, unrecognizable limbs. It howled, and swung two heavy, rusty crowbars. The crowbars clanked to the floor, stuck, and the creature hauled its mangled body forward.

A voice came to her from under the whispers, from under the cold terror. "Stay in control. You can kill it. Aim for the limbs." The voice steadied her, helped her rein in her fear. She relaxed her muscles, took a calming breath, aimed down the sights.

Heart throbbing, Ellie dismembered the monster with clean, controlled shots. When its cries and roars faded, she had to sit because she shook too badly to stand. She fought back a sob. Behind the walls in ventilation shafts came more scratching, more rustling, thumping. Her fight had attracted attention. She edged around the monster's corpse and scrambled into the service shaft, shutting the hatch behind her.

She had to regroup and check on Buckell and Santos. She had to see human faces, hear human voices, catch her breath, get her shit together. And most of all, get Isaac's voice out of her head.

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><p><strong>AN: **Let me know any concerns or questions. Next chapter will be posted Sat. Feb. 1, 2014. Until then, cheers!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Welcome back, dear readers. Hope you enjoy.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 5**

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><p>Her arms and shoulders hadn't recovered from the trip up the rungs. Their soreness lit her entire body, agonized her, but her life depended on her swift descent. She couldn't help her gasps and the soft clang her feet caused on the rungs. When she stepped into the service office, she collapsed, limp from exhaustion, into the seat. The muscles in her arms throbbed.<p>

After cooling down, she tried her audiolink again. "Santos? Santos, are you there?" Her voice was a sliver above a whisper. "Santos, come _in_."

As if she willed the technician to answer, Santos's end crackled alive. "Ellie? Oh, thank heavens! We thought the worst when we lost the connection! What happened?"

"There are definitely hostiles on the ship," Ellie told her and shuddered when she thought of those yellow eyes. "I took one down, but I riled a nest of them, I think. I made it up to central command, though. And the elevator shaft seems clear."

Santos murmured. Then she said, louder, "Buckell's asked if you could describe the Necromorph."

"I'll tell you when I get back," replied Ellie, annoyed that she had to recall her ordeal so soon.

"No," Santos said, "tell us now. We need to know."

Ellie hesitated, but after a moment understood Santos's insistence. If she were to get killed, she would take her information with her and leave Buckell and Santos without any idea of what faced them. "It was very thin, wasted and blackened from age. It had these…yellow eyes, right terrifying. I didn't see them at first, but it swung crowbars. They weren't slashers. They were something else."

"You said you could dismember it, this wasted-thing?"

That was Santos, getting to the heart of the matter, thought Ellie with a wry smile. "Yes. It went down same as everything else we've faced. The only thing is that I didn't hear where it came from. They come through the ventilation shafts, but this one didn't or I would've heard it. I don't know where it came from."

"I see. A new classification of Necromorph, then, but a Necromorph just the same." Ellie heard Buckell speaking. A second later, Santos said, "Buckell says you need to get back here and get some rest. We have more news for you which can wait until you're safe."

"Safe doesn't exist," Ellie muttered, and louder, she said, "I'll see you soon then. Maintain radio silence until I initiate, is that understood?"

"Understood. Be safe, Elle."

Her brief rest had revitalized her. First she sorted out the gunbelt and readjusted it on her body. She slotted in a fresh clip of plasma energy into the cutter. While she thought of it, she rechecked the area for any overlooked plasma cartridges, but she'd done a thorough job the first time and she didn't find any extras. Perhaps elsewhere, though.

Ready as could be, she pressed her ear to the door's thinnest section and listened, but did not hear anything. Suspicious, she took a discarded plastic cup, scooped out a hole in the bottom with her jackknife, and pressed the improvised stethoscope to the metal. Ah. There we are. Some whisper-quiet shifting. To confirm her suspicions, she went back to the service ladder, switched off her light, and inch by inch, slid up the access panel to the elevator shaft.

The absolute dark nerved her up as she waited for her eyes to adjust. She could see across the shaft through the open doors to the juncture, and the hellish yellow blink of Necromorph eyes. Somewhere between a half-dozen and a dozen roamed the room across her. She wondered if sound would attract these as easily as others. To be safe, she closed the access panel, switched on her light, found a heavy gear among a few on the short work bench.

She went through the process a second time- -waited for her eyes to adjust as interminable minutes ticked past. Holding her breath, she chucked the gear into the elevator shaft. As she hoped, it clanked and clanged until it clattered to a stop somewhere in the distant below-decks. The noise galvanized the Necromorphs into action. Evil voices whispered as the creatures' footsteps rushed into the tram's tunnel. Sheet metal flexed as they climbed into vents. The dragging of those dead, deformed bodies. Slashers.

When she was sure the juncture was clear, she pushed open the door, glanced around and tiptoed to the portal leading to the docking bay corridor. Everything was settled, but even so, she was jumpy. The door to that corridor had not closed. Careful as she could be, she traversed the hall to the hatch and slipped into the docking bay.

Santos stood at the escape pad and greeted Ellie with a warm hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"I've only been gone a couple hours," Ellie said to downplay the comment's gravity. "There was a crowd of slashers I had to deal with."

"None followed you." Fear was raw in Santos' voice.

"No, I don't think so."

"That's a relief. I scouted around and we're lucky that this docking bay doesn't have many vents. Most of them are at ground level, so I took the liberty of moving crates over them."

"Good idea," Ellie said and she saw several large boxes out of place on the deck. She went to one to smooth her hand over it. "You think they're heavy enough?"

Santos smiled. "It took some sweat and unladylike swearing, but they'll do the trick."

"Did you see what was in them?"

"I checked one," Santos reached past Ellie to unlatch the lid, "and didn't find anything that made sense."

The lid hissed- -a pressurized seal to keep out the air and moisture. Inside the crate were some large slabs of black mineral. They were not labeled, and when she touched mineral, she found it to be cool and rough with imprints. She dropped her hand as if it had burned her.

"Santos…is this…?"

"At first, I thought the same thing, but it isn't Marker-origin," she said. "I think it is an artifact from the planet. See the markings?" She rubbed her forefinger over some strange symbols. "These aren't like what I've seen of the Marker's language. SCAF might've found alien life on Tau Volantis."

Ellie's flesh rippled with goose pimples. "But that's incredible. Why didn't they send this artifact back to the colonies? Or why haven't we heard about this before from CEC's or EarthGov's files?"

"That's what I can't make sense of. If this is alien, and a culture separate from the Marker, then this discovery would answer what humans have been asking for millenia. It's too important to bury, so _why is it buried?_"

Ellie had no answer. She and Santos stared at the rock slab in awe, before a dry cough burst out from the pod. They shared a concerned glance and left the crate to attend Buckell, who had propped up on the pod's hatch. A blanket draped across his shoulders, and an empty MRE wrapper glittered on the floor next to him among various wires, parts, and metal bits. His cough was spasmodic, short, but Ellie worried that fluid might collect in his lungs. She didn't admonish him for sitting up.

"You ladies want to share with the rest of the class?" he asked. He sounded breathless. "I'm no spring chicken, but I can hear the two of you talking amongst yourselves."

"Sorry," Santos said, quick to make peace, "I found something that I thought would interest Ellie. Besides, you're supposed to be resting."

"What I'm supposed to be doing is getting this damnable distress beacon to function," he told her. To Ellie, he said, "You look like hell."

She didn't need to ask about the distress beacon. What was one more malfunctioned piece of technology on this rust bucket? Instead she said, "I feel like hell. My arms are ready to fall off."

"Get some food in you and get some sleep." He tossed her one of the remaining food packets. She caught it. "Santos and I'll keep watch."

"Fine. But here, Santos, you take the cutter," she said. "And if anything moves or makes a sound, don't hesitate and shoot the limbs. Understand?"

"Shoot the limbs," Santos agreed as she accepted the cutter. "Here."

Santos handed her an army-olive blanket, musty, stale, scratchy, but warm when it was wrapped around her. She hadn't realized how much had been taken out of her, and weary, she sagged into a seat. Her fingers didn't operate well enough to open the silver cellophane, so she bit into it and tore with her teeth.

The food bar was chewy, reconstituted nutrients that tasted pretty much like an old sock. But she was too hungry to care. She ate every bit of that bar, shrugged deeper into the army blanket, and didn't even realize she was asleep until Santos shook her awake. Already? Her eyes were glued shut, lashes stuck together from hard sleep, and her neck had a crick in it.

"It's your watch, Elle," she said. "Buckell sacked out a couple hours ago."

Ellie didn't argue. "You have a blanket?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Santos pointed to another chair, which had the folded blanket. "There are a few footlockers mixed among the crates. That's where I found these blankets. Though, I haven't had an opportunity to go through each one yet."

"I can do that while you get your sleep. Have you eaten?"

"Yes. I wanted to let you sleep longer, but I-"

Ellie lifted a hand to stop her. "No, you've done enough. We need your big brain at full capacity to help us out of this mess. You deserve as much rest as you can get."

Santos nodded. After she handed Ellie the cutter, she sat, stiffly, in the chair. She shook out the army blanket to cover her. When her eyelids snapped shut, Ellie sympathized with her exhaustion. On the floor, Buckell snored- -little gentle putters of his lips- -with one blanket covering him, another folded under his head. Ellie stood and immediately regretted it. She winced. Her arms, shoulders, and back were atrophied and the tenderness was unforgiving.

She stretched to work loose those muscles, and _what _was that god-awful stink? She sniffed her pits and grimaced. Oh, God. It was _her._ There was nothing she could do. Her eyes caught the yellow glow of a textlog. She leaned over and skimmed the contents. Santos had started a supplies catalogue. Mostly it was old blankets, combat boots, uniforms, and personal hygienic kits. Curious, she rummaged in a footlocker until she found a kit and unzipped it: soap, shaving cream, a razor, and treasure of treasures, a travel-size toothbrush and toothpaste.

She would not use precious water on a sponge bath, but she could spare a few drops for the toothbrush. The paste looked normal and tasted so minty it stung her eyes. Brushing her teeth refreshed her enough that she decided to explore the docking bay. As she replaced the hygienic kit, a yellow textlog peeked from under a rumpled shirt.

[PERSONAL LOG: SGT. ASHLEY LEWIS]

_I've had to work three double shifts this week due to staff illnesses. Soldiers call in because of migraines and flu. Luce from Medical told me the clinic's packed round the clock. She said it's probably from stress. I don't know about that. I only know I'm so tired my vision's blurred. I can't imagine how the doctors must feel._

_Graves sent Mahad to the planet to overlook the operations down there. I get the feeling that there's some hostility from the researchers about how Mahad is handling things. Rumor-mill says Serrano, the head research honcho, is onto something big. Maybe even the thing we were supposed to be looking for in the first place. Our command is whispering and double-checking everything behind us. I had a huge order of archaeological suits, tools, and climbing gear transferred to planetside command. Our major had a heart attack when the grav-lift set the crates down too hard and cracked a couple seals._

_Whatever it is, I hope they find it fast. Tensions are as high as ever. Everyone is feeling the pressure from above. And worse, I'm been catching glimpses of Pops here and there, but it's not possible. He died last year. He can't be here, can he?_

Ellie didn't understand why, but reading this soldier's words 200 years after his death felt bittersweet to her. The illness, she knew, was the result of a Marker signal. According to this log, three months had passed since the SCAF arrived to Tau Volantis. Three months exposed to whatever signal originated from the planet and the dementia just then showing face.

Her experience with Marker signals told her that the signal, for some reason, wasn't as potent as it usually was. Why? What caused it to weaken? Her gaze strayed to the sealed crate with the alien artifacts. Had it something to do with those slabs? Or the creatures who created them?

The questions made her uneasy about the true purpose of SCAF's presence at the planet.

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><p><strong>AN:** As always, please leave your thoughts and concerns, and thank you for reading. Next chapter will be posted Tues. Feb. 4th. See you then!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Welcome back, dear readers. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 6**

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><p>Ellie occupied her time with sorting through the footlockers. Not much else could help them, except for a few spare lights. She walked the perimeter of the docking bay. In a cobwebbed corner, forgotten, was climbing gear. Boots, ropes, harnesses, crampons, picks, anchors, everything one needed to scale a snowy, mountainous cliff.<p>

She turned aside from it, thinking it was useless in their situation. But as her mind spun with everything wrong, she started to believe that gear could help them. If they were clever, they could use it for a faster transport up and down the elevator shafts. Buckell would know best how to use everything in the way she wanted.

For something to do, she paced along the perimeter of the bay, thinking. Their priorities were simple: supply and stock a defensible location; repair the distress beacon; and hold out until help arrived. Once they settled in central command, Ellie knew she and Santos would have to search for food and water. Water was precious. They would not survive without it. Food was less significant than water. When the food and water would suffice, they needed the parts for the distress beacon. Buckell would know what to look for and where to find it.

She wondered about Robert and Carver. Had they found Isaac yet? She calculated the time through the various shockrings Robert would take from Keyhole and realized that to get to Isaac at New Horizons and then to shockpoint back out to Tau Volantis would be fourteen days total. How much time had already passed? She wasn't sure. Might as well be a lifetime.

Frustrated, she lapped the perimeter a second time. As she came to a far corner, she heard faint, faint rustling from behind the wall. Then a long sound, like the tip of a blade skimming across metal, whined out to her. Several taps followed. Something tested the wall. Her stomach turned sour. A Necromorph had discovered them, or waited for them, and when there was one, there would be more.

Ellie flew across the docking bay to the pod. But before she called out to wake Buckell or Santos, she calmed herself. They would have to be methodical and careful. Their only effective weapon was the dinged-up cutter so they could not be caught out in the open. Moving swift and silent was imperative. Gently, she shook awake Buckell.

His eyes snapped open, puffy and red-rimmed. "Hunh? Ellie? What time is it?"

"Buckell, they've found us. We have to move, _now._ Can you get up?" She stooped and reached out her hand, but he waved her off. "Wake up Santos and put back together the distress beacon. I'll get our supplies around."

It was to their benefit they did not have much gear. She took what she could carry in the duffle, their food, water, and med-kit. There was a lot of spare room, so she stuffed in some rope, harnesses, and a small satchel that had various metal bits inside it from one of the crates. Santos rolled together the blankets and tied them off with some spare wire. She had cut loose a strap and rolled it into the blankets, so she could sling them over her shoulder for transport. Buckell had the engineer's kit and the distress beacon under one arm.

"Ellie," Santos said. She faced out the pod's cracked windshield. Her voice was strangled, choked. "Where did you hear it?"

Buckell, beside her, turned to see where she looked and he jumped out of his skin. "_Holy Mary Mother of Christ!"_

Glass shattered over them. A blackened figure charged through, whispers like spider's venom curled in her veins. Ellie's heart leapt into a gallop behind her chest. The figure was nearest Santos; Santos had cringed, her arms covered her head. Ellie didn't think. She brought up the cutter and squeezed the trigger. Plasma energy crackled out, leapt forth to sever the creature's arms. Its gaping yellow mouth and baleful yellow eyes pinned her before it collapsed in a pile at Santos's feet.

Buckell, ashen, staggered to Santos, who sobbed in fear. Ellie shuddered. Steady your nerves, keep your head on straight, advised the survivor in her. How had it gotten into the bay? She decided it didn't matter. The waster had slipped in the docking bay because it was dark with lots of spaces they couldn't see or cover. Staying here longer was not an option. Coolly, she dismembered the creature's legs. Acrid smoke in the small space suffocated her.

"Hush, hush," Buckell murmured to Santos. He had wrapped his beefy arms around the small woman. "Jenny, you're fine. You're fine. Hush. Sh-sh-sh."

Ellie left them and checked the bay. All clear, for now. When she returned, Santos stooped over the dead waster. She had calmed, but her face bore the evidence of her upset. In her hand was a long instrument, thin, about the length of a meter stick. She used it to prod the waster at her feet. Buckell sat to the side, looking ill.

"Santos? You okay?" Ellie asked.

"This was a crewmember," Santos replied, in her usual matter-of-fact manner. The waster did wear the tattered remains of a SCAF uniform. She pointed at its chest. "See there? A name patch."

Ellie crouched. The name was printed in large capital letters, faded from 200 years' time, but clear: LEWIS. The insignia indicated the corpse had once been a sergeant. Seeing the name kicked her in the gut. She wiggled her fingers in the pockets and came up with gum, a book of matches, a folded square of paper, a crumpled half-pack of cigarettes and a plasma cartridge. She tucked the items into one of her own pockets for later inspection.

"Ellie, does this look like a bullet hole to you?" Santos asked. She had her prod a few inches deep in Lewis's temple. "It's about the right size."

Ellie tilted the withered skull. Skin flaked into her hand. Black hair was well-preserved despite the cellular changes in the body. Santos pulled free her prod so Ellie could direct her light at the hole. Her first instinct was that Santos was correct, but without a proper examination, the cause of death would be inconclusive. Rustling drew her attention to Santos, who dug through the duffle.

"Ladies, we shouldn't be concerned about a 200 year-old mummy's cause of death," Buckell said. "If you haven't noticed, now's not the time to conduct an autopsy."

"I know," Ellie told him, freeing the pistol from its holster. She released the clip and popped out a bullet. "One minute."

She put the pistol bullet point first to the hole. It slid smoothly in without resistance. She left it stuck in the corpse's temple. The downward angle of the bullet wound bothered her. Then she removed it and replaced the bullet in the clip, the clip in the gun, and the gun in the holster. The angle. What about the angle?

"Santos? Will you tell Ellie we should move our asses?" Buckell pleaded with Santos.

Santos stood over Ellie with a pair of long-nosed tweezers. "We have to be sure."

"We have to be sure," Ellie reiterated as she accepted the tweezers.

"For Christ's sake. We have a crisis on our hands and you two want to play doctor!"

"Buckell, please. The more we know, the more we can prepare," Ellie told him. "Keep a look out. It'll take just a moment."

After a few seconds, Ellie gripped the end of the old bullet and wormed it free from bone. That confirmed Lewis had died from a bullet to the head. And she realized what the angle meant.

"Santos, kneel for a second, would you?" Ellie's throat felt tight.

Santos knelt in front of her. Slowly, Ellie poised her hand into the shape of a gun's muzzle and pointed it to Santos's temple. Bang. If they were correct, Lewis had not committed suicide. Someone else aimed the service pistol at his head and had pulled the trigger.

Buckell said what she thought. "That soldier was executed."

"Executed? Why would they do that?" Santos asked. Here eyes were wide. "What about suicide? We know dementia causes the afflicted to commit suicide. Given that SCAF dabbled with the Marker, suicide would make perfect sense."

Ellie helped up Santos. "The Marker's signal scrambled _someone's_ brain, maybe another soldier, maybe a commander. Who knows? The Marker wants dead flesh to infect, so it helps the living to die." She had seen it time and again. Murder was a tool the Marker used. "We're leaving."

In ten minutes or less, they did leave. They did not question Ellie, who was on full alert as they stepped across the bay to the hatch. She worked open the hatch, cringing when it creaked in the deadly quiet, and paused to listen to the corridor. They hadn't been heard. Yet. She waved Buckell and Santos forward, and checked around with the cutter as they scuttled along the hall. They had made it to the open juncture when Ellie heard the evil whispers crawl across the air. Mouth dry, she shoved her two remaining crew toward the little paneled service door.

They clattered inside. Buckell flopped into the control chair, sweat beaded on his skin, great bags under his eyes. Santos leaned on the workbench next to him. She pressed a hand to her heart. Ellie set aside the backpack and took up the cup with the hole in the bottom that she'd left aside the last time she was here. She leaned with it, connecting her ear to the cup to the door. Movement on the other side. The wasters seemed to speak to each other as they shuffled around.

Ellie indicated to Buckell and Santos that they should remain silent. She grabbed a heavy metal pipe, rolled up a panel to the side of the service ladder, and pushed it through so that it tipped out into the empty elevator shaft. As it had done before, the distant clang of the pipe attracted the wasters' attention. They clamored into the below-decks to investigate.

She waited until the reedy whispers faded. "That should occupy them for a time. I suggest we move up into central command before they find us out. This service ladder will take us all the way up the spire to the bridge," she gestured to it. "But the climb is…quite taxing."

"You're saying I won't manage it," Buckell told her.

"I know you're strong as an ox under normal circumstances," she said to quell his annoyance, "but you're wounded in an area that will be damaged during the climb. So I had a different idea." She pulled out the climbing gear and spread it at Buckell's feet. "I thought Santos and I could hook up a pulley system and haul you and the gear up. Also, it'll make going to each level for supplies quicker and easier. Do you think you can work something out with these materials?"

Buckell scowled at the offering, but he saw her reason. "Hand me that black pouch." She handed him the zippered pouch that jingled and he opened it, shifting through with his index finger. She and Santos traded a glance, but stood back as his eyes roamed over their gear. "Okay. This might work."

He explained, step by step, what they had to do to secure the lines in the elevator shaft. She and Santos would have to brave climbing the ladder below-decks to anchor Buckell's pulley system at the bottom of the shaft and do the same at the top in CC.

"Go top down," he told them after demonstrating how it was to look with a rough sketch on a scrap of paper. Ellie looped the coiled rope over a shoulder and across her chest, and Santos hung the hardware pouch to her waist, along with the necessary tools. "It should be me doing this."

"Stay here and stay out of trouble," Ellie said. "We'll handle this."

He sat back, wearily, and sighed. "Yeah. I know. You have to."

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><p><strong>AN:** I feel sad that I've had to write Buckell out of commission for awhile. Poor guy. As usual, please let me know your thoughts and concerns. Next chapter will be posted Sat. Feb. 8th. See you then. =)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Welcome back! Please enjoy this next chapter.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 7**

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><p>Ellie and Santos climbed the service ladder up to central command at the tip-top of the control spire. Ellie checked the short hall. The waster that she'd killed was sprawled on the floor. She tiptoed over it to peer around the corner. A hatch was open in the floor, which looked like it led to escape pods for the bridge crew. She guessed the waster had crawled up from there.<p>

To keep their backs protected, she closed the hatch. At first the hinges resisted; the metal whined as rust flaked into the air, but she got it latched and locked. When she returned to Santos, the technician had several wires hooked into a panel beside the door. To Ellie's surprise, a holograph had switched on in the center.

"Ah, just in time," she said. She held a stylus and an active datapad. "It's ready to open."

"How'd you do that?"

"Hm? Oh," Santos said when Ellie pointed with her chin at the hologram, "I juiced up a cell from the pod. If we have any other doors to open, there should be more than enough charge to get the job done. Besides, it's portable."

"You're amazing, Jennifer. Really, truly amazing."

"Elementary, my dear Langford. Elementary." Then Santos waved her off. "Ready for this?"

Ellie hefted the cutter. "Ready."

Santos tapped her datapad. A series of clicks resounded from the door. The heft of steel grated as the door rolled open with a steady clip, revealing a chamber that faced out to Tau Volatis's vista. The ice planet hung, suspended in debris that reached in a glinting ring beyond Ellie's field of view. She stepped in, her light beam running over lifeless panels. The planet cast plenty of light onto the bridge.

Immediately inside the doors was a dark workbench and to the left of them was the bridge's elevator. Several bins lay scattered about. The whole area was a short few meters in length, shaped in a broad U-shape. She leaned over a railing.

Below them were several other command panels. More grit and dust coated the seats and stations. No corpses were present and that was a relief. Where they stood must have been for the vessel's captain or commander. A certain sense of timelessness took hold of her from how well-preserved the bridge remained.

"Ellie?" Santos came up beside her. "Will you check the vents? I'll secure the door and get the elevator shaft open. Then I'll give Buckell a progress report."

Ellie descended the spiral steps to the lower bridge. Smaller vents ringed the area, but not big enough for a waster to climb through, she was sure. Something the size of a cat could fit- -and she realized they'd have to block the vents. She didn't trust the virus to play fair. Once Buckell was up, he could devise a way to better secure the bridge. Overhead, the elevator doors chimed open. She jogged up the steps.

"Buckell, Ellie and I are on the bridge. How are you?" A pause. "Okay. We'll update you when we're ready." Santos leaned over to peer into the fathomless dark below them. "Right then. We should set up."

They worked as a team to snap the pulley into place and feed the rope so that it smoothly caught and released and was secured. Then they hooked themselves up using the harnesses and clips. Ellie went first. She was most comfortable with rock-climbing as she had been a miner before a pilot. She kept her toes on the wall and her hands on the rope, one to guide and one to give slack through her harness. Her descent was quick and efficient. She halted only when she came to where the elevator car blocked the shaft.

Santos landed on cat's feet next to her. Her foot hit the gear and the pipe Ellie'd dumped into the shaft earlier to distract the wasters. Ellie leaned to pick up the two objects. Curious, she turned a slow circle in the shaft.

"What is it?" Santos whispered.

Ellie gestured to what she saw. At some point, when the shut down occurred, the elevator was suspended just below a set of doors. For some reason, these doors were open- -a malfunction maybe- -giving an opening to the Necromorphs that either fell or climbed into the shaft. The service panel was undamaged meaning the Necromorphs hadn't found it yet.

"That's where the wasters exited the shaft," she replied, also keeping her voice low, "when I used these as a distraction."

"Oh."

They both knew the importance of haste and so set up the rest of the pulley system, inset into a crevice in the shaft so that on the off chance they managed to get the power on, the ropes would not interfere with the elevator car's movement. When they were through, they both were soaked with sweat and weary from their strain. But they couldn't stop to rest.

Ascending the shaft with the pulley system was faster, quieter, and less straining. Buckell stood in the open elevator frame with their gear. They decided to go together. Buckell accepted no help in clipping into his harness. Ellie and Santos draped their shoulders and arms with the supplies, and in tandem, began pulling on the rope. They didn't speak, so the zip of line through harness clips filled the silence.

At last they came up into central command and unloaded. Santos stayed put to secure the elevator shaft while Ellie showed Buckell the vents. Buckell scratched his temple, squatting in front one of the vents.

"I see what you mean. It _seems_ too small for something to get through. Uh-huh." He stood. "Well, we could weld over the opening. There's plenty of spare metal lying around. We'd need a torch or a nail-driver."

"Should we put that on our wish-list?" she asked. The underlying question was, Is it essential for us to fix it?

Buckell paused a long moment to consider. "I suppose if we're out and about and we see an opportunity to grab one, it couldn't hurt any."

Ellie nodded. "I want to search the escape pods for any supplies. Did you need any help with the distress beacon?"

"Nah," he said. "I need some more time to tinker with it before I can diagnose the malfunction. Why don't you take Santos with you? Two pairs of hands and all that."

"What did you need me for?" Santos leaned over the railing above them. "Plotting to keep me busy so I don't fuss over you?"

Buckell chuckled. "You know us too well. Go on with Ellie, Santos. We need whatever supplies you can get your hands on."

Ellie climbed up the stairs, her legs and back aching, crying practically, and assisted Santos in opening up the door again. They decided to leave the door unlocked but closed in the event that leaving it open would endanger Buckell and if they needed to make a quick escape. Santos had clipped a light to her shirt front. Her light skimmed over the prone waster.

Distastefully, she stepped around it. "Having this body lying here troubles me," she said. "We should find some way of disposing of it."

"I agree. Maybe we can flush it out of an airlock," Ellie replied. She checked the corner at the end of the short hall with her cutter. "Here we are."

With Santos's help, the hatch opened up. Ellie descended the rungs first. The narrow tube ended a short few meters into another, longer hall. On both sides were closed portals with cranks centered on each face. Ellie peered through the small windows, one after another. Where were the escape pods? Where were they? Disbelief closed over her head. It couldn't be. It just…couldn't.

Ellie stopped at the last portal. It, too, was empty of a pod. She leaned against the cold metal to shore up her courage.

Santos put a hand on her shoulder. "Ellie, where are the escape pods?"

Dammit. "Isaac…when he told me about the Marker on the _Ishimura_, he said that the crew's escape pods were missing from the ship. He guessed that they'd been deployed ahead of time to prevent anyone from escaping."

"It has happened here, then." Her flat tone reflected Ellie's attitude.

"We don't know what's with us," Ellie said, looking at Santos. "The SCAF created Markers to triangulate the origin signal. It could be that they used a Marker to power the ship. Maybe they found a Marker on Tau Volantis and brought it up with them." Ellie dropped her hand from the wall. "One thing's certain. We have to continue exploring."

Santos nodded. "We're dangerously low on food and water. And if we're to have any hope of defending our position, we must also have weapons and ammunition."

At that moment, a low, blaring wail resounded through the metal halls and niches of the ship. It was so powerful that dust shook from the overhead beams. The small windows shivered in their frames. Ellie grabbed hold of Santos, put her arms around her, as the wail continued from the depths to the very corners of the _Roanoke_. In the distance, she heard metal creak and clang as something enormous shifted. Then the wail ended, dropping everything back into weighted silence.

"God. God, what was that?" Santos gasped. She trembled inside Ellie's arms. Ellie's blood had gone ice cold. "What was that?"

In the next moment, their audio clicked. It was Buckell. Ellie switched it on so they could hear him. "Girls, are you okay? Talk to me!"

Ellie swallowed around the lump in her throat. "We're…we're fine. We're coming back." Stiffly, she and Santos rushed along the long corridor to the rungs and the hatch.

"What the hell was that thing? Ellie, do you know?"

"It could be a leviathan," she said and let Santos up the ladder first. "Isaac and I have experienced them before. The virus collects bodies together, binds them into a huge monster."

"Can it get to us?"

She followed Santos out of the hatch and into the short hall to central command. "The one I know of had tentacles anchored to a blob in one area. It didn't move, but used the tentacles."

"So…we should be okay from it," Buckell concluded. "That's a relief."

Santos had opened the door into the command station. Ellie turned off the audio and went down the steps to Buckell. He had started on dismantling the distress beacon. Bits and pieces were spread around him and he had spectacles propped on the end of his nose. A small screwdriver was gripped in one hand, and in the other, a circuit board connected with wires.

"Well, we may be far away enough _here,_" Ellie said, to continue their conversation, "but we have to go into the ship for supplies. There were no escape pods."

Buckell paused his tinkering. "None? None at all?"

"We have concluded," said Santos in response to his obvious surprise, "that they were deployed as a way to keep the crew from escaping." She had sunk into a chair.

"Meaning you'll have to explore the ship. With those things wandering around. And that other thing somewhere below-decks." He scowled. "I don't like it."

"None of us do," Santos replied. "But it must be done. Right, Ellie?"

"Right."

At least, she thought, they knew what they faced. On Titan, when she and her crew ran blind against blades, monstrous howls, and twisted, split features, their fear stemmed from the unknown. With each sacrifice, when each successive encounter, her knowledge of the Necromorphs grew. Most importantly, she knew what killed them. The chance of survival was slim, but it was there, and it was what she clung to.

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><p><strong>AN:** As always, please leave your comments and questions. Next chapter will be posted 2/11/14. Until then!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **So sorry for the delay! Here's the next installment. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 8**

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><p>"Ellie, a textlog," Santos whispered over their comm link. "Should I read it to you?"<p>

She and Santos were one level beneath central command, where administrative offices honeycombed the deck, silent as a tomb. "Yes. Please begin."

Ellie made sure her volume was adjusted to low. No need to advertise her position. Santos introduced Major Malcolm Oaken in command of the fleet's Archaeology Division. In the textlog, he gave a general report until the thread took a turn. "'I've been addressed by both my men and several lead scientists. Seems our orders interfere with the scientists' research and the scientists are resisting our protocols.'" Santos paused. "That's consistent with the other reports we've found."

"Does he specify any reasons for the resistance? It would help us to find the source of the discontentment."

"Well, there's more," Santos continued. "'We can't have these petty arguments. We're running out of time and resources. Brass has made that abundantly clear. What the scientists have found are excellent discoveries for their field, but not at all what we can use as a weapon against EarthGov. We need the origin Marker's power to turn the tide in our favor. That was the reason we're here with last of what the colonies had to offer. And we _are_ the last of it. We've got no one and nothing coming to save us.'" She stopped reading for a moment. Ellie heard her thinking over the comm. Then Santos said, "They were planning to use the Marker _as a weapon?_"

"Didn't we see somewhere that SCAF wanted the Markers to harness endless energy?" Ellie asked. A bottle of malt whiskey lay forgotten in the bottom drawer. It would be vinegar, but she thought perhaps it would take the edge off being surrounded with dark, cold space. She slipped it into the duffle she carried. "Were they planning on using the Marker's power to, like, wipe out EarthGov support?" She continued to check the office for any more supplies.

Santos hummed in her throat. "Listen to this: 'I'm responsible for the men and scientists under my command, keeping them alive, fed, rested, and working at maximum capacity for as long as possible. But with dwindling food and water stores, longer shifts, and sickness weakening us, we won't last much longer. In regards to the tensions reported to me, I'll address both my soldiers and the scientists and remind them of their shared cause. We can't allow EarthGov's control to extend over the colonies. We alone are left to stand against their power-mongering,'" Santos read. After a beat, she asked, "What do you think of that? Sounds like the colonies were pretty desperate to buck EarthGov."

"We've already seen EarthGov's darker side up close and personal. Isaac believed that the Church was started as a subdivision of EarthGov to cover up research into the Markers." Ellie left the office to search the next one over. A black-stained mess coated the floor and walls, but the space was abandoned. "If you listen to the conspiracy theorists, EarthGov wanted to use the Markers to annihilate any opposition and exert total control. The fact that SCAF came here shows they wanted to beat EarthGov to the punch."

"Do you think they found the original Marker?" Without waiting for Ellie's answer, she continued. "We already know they found alien artifacts. But we don't know if there is any connection between these artifacts and the Marker SCAF searched for. Jackpot!" Santos laughed. "Here's a directory!"

"Thank God. Where's the mess hall on this damn ship?"

"Hold on. Ummm-ah. Okay, it's on Deck 16." Over the link, Ellie heard Santos's datapad intonation, soft _duk-duk-duk _noises. "Let's go there now."

"No, let me go alone. You finish searching this area. It'll be easier for me to do reconnaissance alone and then report back to you. I'll update Buckell."

Santos didn't argue with her, and neither did Buckell, although he grumped at her for being reckless. He didn't change her mind and shut up when she reminded him of why he had to have shrapnel removed from his side. She strapped on the harness, hooked onto the pulley, and lowered herself into the black shaft. Once more, she was on her own, without Santos a few doors away. Deck 16 was easy enough to find, but it was bloody black as pitch when she slipped between the parted elevator doors. Her cutter's light felt wholly inadequate.

"Santos, Buckell, I'm on Deck 16," she whispered over audio. "I'm moving down a long corridor." She paused at a cluttered junction. Overhead was a dim green sign that pointed her to the left for the mess hall. "I'm heading toward the mess hall. I'll report in once I'm there."

Her own breathing and her footfalls nerved her up, so she paused to get her wits together. As she leaned a shoulder on the wall, the tiniest _taptap_ whirled her around. Jittery, she pointed the light beam into the endless hall. Waited for the creature to show itself. Waited. Waited. Nothing moved. She calmed some and decided to quit stalling and get to the mess hall.

After a few more minutes, she arrived at a pair of swinging doors. Two clouded windows allowed her to peer into the area. Her light would attract attention, so she toggled it off and waited for her eyes to adjust. When they did, minimally, she pressed a hand against one door. It didn't creak and she didn't see any glowing eyes or hear any movement. The mess hall was an interior space, with no windows to overlook Tau Volantis.

Ellie switched on her light, checked her corners, and stepped into the open area. Long tables were bolted to the floors. Stools were bolted to the tables. Trays had been left on some tables, the food long since rotted into slime or mold. The serving line was an open area behind the rows of tables. A door that stated "Food Services Personnel Only" swung open to the kitchen area. Stainless steel counters, sinks, and industrial-sized refrigerators were set up in a perimeter around a large island. Two walk-in freezers were set in one wall. Cabinets overhead and under the island revealed nothing useful after a hasty search. No rations, but plenty of cookware, cookie sheets, pans, and mixing bowls.

She hoped she was close. She continued around the island to another swinging door labeled "Food Storage". Oaken had mentioned scarcity in food and water supplies, but there had to be emergency rations tucked away, forgotten. The space was tight inside Food Storage. Several shelves layered the walls and one free-standing shelf unit in the middle.

Though the shelves were somewhat bare, a few black storage bins remained intact in the far back. As she slid one off the shelf, she told herself not to get her hopes up. But the bin was heavy and clunked to the floor. Inside her chest, her heart drummed, and she couldn't get her hands to steady. It took her four attempts to unlatch the bin and pop open the lid. Silver cellophane greeted her, stacked in tight, proper order. Compact water pouches were tucked in on one side.

She packed everything into the duffle and reached overhead for a second storage bin. Her fingers brushed the bin's bottom edge, but even on tip-toe, it was too high. Cursing, Ellie stepped on the bottom shelf. She was light, only needed a minute, and surely it would hold. Her mistake.

The entire shelving unit collapsed. She landed on her ass as the shelves collided together, the crash raucous and belligerent. Clangs and clatters lasted for several seconds and in the ensuing silence, Ellie strained her ears. Her breathing tainted the quiet. Relief weakened her. She hadn't been-

Then high-pitched screeches, mixed with guttural roars, blasted around her, froze her. Oh, God no. This couldn't be happening. She scrambled to her feet, ducking her head under the duffle's strap, and slapped open the swinging doors. In the dark cloak that shrouded the mess hall, she wove between the tables. When the doors to the corridor slammed open, five or six or seven- -too many, she couldn't get an accurate count. They carried with them the palpable evil, eyes and mouths burning the darkness.

Fear gripped her, but over the buzz of it, she backed up a step, aimed. An officer's uniform strode forth, first in the wave. She forced herself to aim, forced her herself to breathe. Three shots per leg took it down. She had no breathing space. Their approach was too fast- -she'd be flanked- -and spun to sprint into the kitchen. Thoughts whirled inside her mind over her wild heartbeat. Find a chokepoint. She'd have to hold them off. Pick at them. Food Storage had no exit; she'd be trapped in there.

She glanced over her shoulder. Yellow glints were upon her, mouths gaped in awful terror. Her brain knew that to move into the mess hall would result in death, even with the cutter, even to run the corridor. The wasters screamed, the noise dreadful, sickening, and charged. Their speed was mind-numbing, terrible.

Blindly, Ellie dashed to the other side of the kitchen and flung open the freezer door. She got it closed. A hail of blows whammed at the door, more screeches deafened her, chilled her bones. She felt in the dark to the back. Would the barrier hold? The blows continued, relentlessly. Ellie flashed her cutter's light to the door. She saw no dents in the stainless steel, blackened by age and use. She saw the safety handle near the door's latch, but didn't dare go near it.

Trembling, unsteady, she slid to sit on a bench in the freezer's wall. Syncopated whams fell on the door, with no indication of abating. Shit. _Shit._ She opened her audio to Buckell and Santos.

"Are you there? Buckell? Santos?" Please be there.

Buckell answered. "I'm here, Ellie. What's wrong? What's going on?"

"I'm in a freezer in the mess hall kitchen." She swallowed, tried to control the quiver in her voice. "I attracted some wasters. They're trying to break in. I don't know how many."

"Sit tight. I'm coming," Buckell said.

"NO!" Ellie could not allow Buckell to walk into her mess. He'd be slaughtered. "No. They'll go away when they can't get in. I can outwait them."

He grunted. "Let me distract them. Then you can run for it. Or let me send Santos down to help. She can do some computer wizardry or something."

"It's too risky. Austin, please. I've got supplies here and the cutter. The door will hold, and you can't risk yourself or Santos without an effective weapon. I'll report in every hour. It'll be all right."

"Every half hour, you mean," he responded. His tone was firm, fatherly. "That's final, young lady."

She sighed and gave in. "Fine. Every thirty minutes, then. I shouldn't be but a couple of hours."

"Stay strong, Ellie. But if the door even looks weakened, contact us. We'll sort some way out to help you."

"I promise, Buckell, and thanks. I'll be okay." She signed off before he could hear the lie.

Resigned, she leaned her head back and listened to the furious ringing of metal on metal. Crowbars, wrenches, pipes banged on the door. A screeching cloud lingered on the air as sinuous whispers billowed through the dark. She could last a couple of hours. She could outlast them. She focused on slowing her heart, on strengthening her resolve, on overpowering her fear. The blows outside the door fell like a hammer striking an anvil in her head.

Think about something, she told herself. Think about anything. She breathed out. Relaxed her shoulders. She didn't need to close her eyes when she switched off the cutter's light to conserve the bulb. How long she'd have to wait, she didn't know. She'd told Buckell a couple of hours, but it could be more than that. Maybe a day, maybe even longer than that.

Panic crowded inside her chest. A sob bubbled up her throat. Stop that. Think about Robert. Think about his goodness. His pride. She forced her mind to conjure Robert's craggy face, his cool blue eyes, his strawberry-blonde hair shaved in a military buzz. He had scars from his battles, just as she did, under his uniform. Her knowledge of those came later.

At the moment, his official blue and white security suit molded to his shoulders and hips would be enough. She heard his voice, saw the sly smirk he gave her when they first met.

She could see his feet propped up on the desk in his captain's office. He was reclined, with his hands linked behind his head. "So, Ellie Langford. John Carver tells me you need some help. What can I do for you?"

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><p><strong>AN:** So ends another chapter. Next chapter to be posted 2/15/14. Until then, stay safe! =)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Welcome back, dear readers. Please enjoy!

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 9**

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><p>"You can start by allowing me passage to Bao Chen." Ellie didn't appreciate that smirk on the captain's face. She had an immediate impression of egotism. "Carver informed me you'd be making a run there."<p>

"That's right. The _Eudora _is going out to that particular colony. Today, in fact. We've got a shipment of medical supplies to off-load," he elaborated. "And no, you are not allowed passage."

"I see." She had expected his refusal, actually. "What did Carver tell you about me?"

Norton dropped his feet off the desk and reached into a drawer. He withdrew a bottle of amber liquid- -whiskey, as Ellie caught a whiff of it and knew it from experience- -and poured a healthy two fingers into a tumbler. She saw this as a way for him to think on how to answer her.

"Drink?" he asked, gesturing with the tumbler.

"Yes, thank you." She sat in a chair in front of his desk. "This homebrewed?"

"Hm. Has an EarthGov ban, but is distilled and sold on twenty-four colonies under the wing. This is the best batch I've had. Cheers."

He raised his glass; she reciprocated. They both knocked back the whiskey in one. The liquor burned down her throat, lit her stomach up. Her eyes stung, but she appreciated the hit on her system. Her fight with Isaac echoed inside her head, had laid raw wounds on her. She closed her eyes when the room swam. When everything steadied, she returned her attention to the captain.

"That's strong," she rasped. "Use it to scrub the deck?"

Norton laughed and poured another round. "Something like that. Carver didn't fill in many details about the mysterious Ellie Langford, so I did some side research. Born Eleanor Marie Langford, you were placed in an orphanage when you were eight. Mr. and Mrs. Alphonse Beckenridge fostered you until you were ten. Then your aunt adopted you. Her name was Mona Filtch, unmarried, a nurse by profession. You had moderate success in school, but your true passion was flying. You went to flight school on a scholarship, learned the ropes, and scored a low-man position on Titan with a mining crew." He studied her moment. "Right so far?"

"Yes. Please, continue." She sipped her whiskey. His exposition gave her time to calculate her next move.

"The next few years you earned your coin piloting. Then things get a little fuzzy. The files are all top security-clearance, and with the media black-out, not much is known. However, from what I glean, the insane, long-term psychiatric patient Isaac Clarke went on a crazed rampage and took down the entire station. Very few escaped Titan's collapse and those who did are traumatized. Most are in hospitals doped up. You, on the other hand, dropped off the radar."

"And now here I am."

He swished the whiskey in his tumbler before bolting it back. "And now here you are."

"Captain, Carver tells me you have certain feelings about EarthGov's research into Marker technology. Do you mind telling me your views?"

His eyes narrowed over his prominent nose. Had she hit a nerve there? "EarthGov's priorities are to the people of Earth and the colonies. I always believed that the Marker research would produce results that would better the lives of the people. But when EarthGov directs funds from branches necessary to provide services to her people, well…something's wrong there." He deliberately loosened his grip on the glass and pressed his shoulders into his chair. "I've been working to ensure the cash flow goes in the right direction, but it's been difficult."

"EarthGov does expend considerable resources and time on Marker research. Do you know what goes on in those research facilities?"

"No. I have no clue. And the higher up the food chain I go, the more I get how the Marker can be used as a renewable energy source, blah, blah, blah. Then you get the Unitologists going on about how the Marker is the path to an afterlife, the door that opens to heaven and peace in the universe. Fucking maniacs, spewing their filth to perfectly decent people. Makes me sick."

She prepared to drive home her point. "Have you seen a Marker in person?"

"No." His tone was cold. "In fact, I think it's just talk to accumulate power and wealth. Religion is based on upholding the sanctity of holy relics for religious leaders to line their pockets and secure positions over their believers. And what do these holy relics do, exactly?" He tapped his chin, mockingly ponderous. "Hmm. Uh, let me think. That's right, nothing in the history of humanity. So this tool that's supposed to wield the power of God has about as much presence as an oversized paperweight."

"I have evidence that Markers exist and of what they are capable. They do have real power."

"Hah!" He punctuated the laugh by slapping the desk. "Oh, you are funny, Miss Langford. Even assuming the Markers are real and are an all-powerful alien artifact, it hasn't done anyone a lick of good. It would find better use as a chunk of space debris floating in orbit around Saturn, for Christ's sake."

"Captain, let me be blunt." Controlling her immediate fury, Ellie leaned forward and put her hands on his desk. She kept her eyes locked to his, her voice low. "The Markers _do_ exist. I've seen one, seen what it can do, and let me tell you, it's not 'just' talk. It's not 'just' a drain on resources. Both the Unitologists and EarthGov have girded for war. They mean to harness the Marker's power, for opposite purposes. Either way, playing with the Markers will bring neither side what it wishes. The Markers _will_ destroy humanity, and it will be a complete and utter destruction."

Norton didn't say anything for a moment, his face stony. "You can't be real. What evidence do you even have?"

"I have Damara Carver, who has been translating Marker cuneiform in secret since obtaining her position as Data Archaeologist. I have files stolen from EarthGov facilities detailing research into the creation and replication of Markers. I have my own experiences on Titan, with Isaac Clarke, who was exposed to a Red Marker on the _Ishimura_ and to the Marker Tiedemann created on Titan. And this," she held out the data stick like a sword. "Play this. If you're not convinced after watching the footage, I'll leave without a fight."

He took it from her, and he acted as though he humored a small child when he slotted it into the vidscreen port. "You won't convince me," he told her as he sat in his chair. "It won't happen."

Twenty minutes later, the digital footage ended. Screams and roars and blood lingered in the small corners of his office. Ellie had closed her eyes against it. No matter how many times she viewed the video, she was never prepared for the after affects of it. Norton was eerily silent and much less rubicund. He seemed to recede into his thoughts. Good.

She addressed him after a minute. "Do you see? The Marker's threat is very real. We have to stop anything from activating the Markers. If you'll give me passage, I'll have a solid grasp on how the Church plans to obtain their sacred Convergence and how it connects to what EarthGov's doing in those research facilities."

"Let's say I believe you. Let's say I take you to Bao Chen. What do you plan do to there?"

Ellie didn't like going into specifics, but it was be transparent or be refused. "My team has been monitoring communications and movements of vested Unitologists. Something big is happening. It all centers on Jacob Danik…you've seen him on vidscreens. Bao Chen seems to be referred to consistently in their messages."

"So you're going to sneak into a Unitologist lair and do what? Say, 'Hey, guys. Can you tell me what your super-secret plans are? Thanks, love you, kisses.'" He mimicked kissing the air. "I don't think so. And besides, who cares what those Unitarded bastards are doing. It's EarthGov that needs to get its shit together."

Ellie's temper flared. She stood and let it burst. Her patience with him had ended- -he would help her or not, and it seemed as though he would not. "I don't appreciate your sarcasm. Whatever the Church is planning, it has everything to do with EarthGov. We need to know how and when they will strike so we can give EarthGov warning. If we can't, who knows what the Unitologists are capable of? EarthGov is a terrible enemy, but the Church…the Church is willing to destroy itself, and everyone else, _you included, _for its ideals."

Without waiting for his response, she stormed out of the office to find her own way off the _Eudora._ She didn't need him. She could find a ship and fly herself to Bao Chen. But with what crew? Buckell and Santos would come with her, even though they were monitoring EarthGov and Unitology channels. No. Putting them at risk did no good. Their skills served humanity better as information-gatherers.

As her footsteps clanged across the deck, she heard her name called behind her. She stopped, turned. Norton jogged up to her. She faced him with her arms crossed, defensive and on guard.

"Anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you're angry?" he asked. When she answered him with a chilly glare, he laughed. "I'm normally a hard sell, but baby, I'm sold. I'll take you out there, and I'll bring you back too. Let me introduce you to my crew."

That seemed so long ago. He was easy to get along with after that, self-assured with his position and skills as captain that everything came together for her at Bao Chen, even though the data wasn't what she wanted. That, and afterwards, he'd been instrumental in her escape from Unitologists.

But…somehow, recently, his behavior had changed. When at first he went along with her willingly, the more she had to infiltrate EarthGov and Unitology, the more oppositional he'd become. He had told her once that he was worried about her Marker obsession, that the whole thing was too big for her and not her fight. Let someone else worry about saving the universe. Then there'd been his comment about Carver- -how his ability to shoot a gun was his single redeeming quality.

How would he handle Isaac? Isaac was already broken, paranoid, frightened of his own mind. Would Robert mistreat Isaac? God, she hoped not. That would put a complete rift between them that couldn't be bridged. Not even she would bridge them together. Isaac abhorred EarthGov, everything it represented, and if Robert treated Isaac like something beneath him, like some animal, Isaac would fight. Isaac would fight and Robert would fight and Carver would fight and they would kill each other. Then she, Buckell, and Santos were screwed.

Robert knew how much Isaac was worth to her, and to their cause. She'd explained to him over and over that without Isaac, she'd never escaped Titan. Isaac wasn't insane; he had dementia. It wasn't his fault. He wasn't bad. He'd saved her life more times than she dared count. And she'd loved him. She laid it bare for Robert, so there was no excuse for him to boss around Isaac or lord him.

"Ellie, you there?" Buckell interrupted her spiraling thoughts. "It's been another thirty minutes. Ellie?"

"Yes, I'm here. The situation's the same," she told him. The wasters still pummeled the door, but the bangs were less aggressive and frequent than at first. It had been three hours since her entrapment. "Buckell, is Santos with you?"

"I'm here. What is it?" Santos responded.

"I'm…" She didn't want to tell them, but had to get it off her chest. "I'm worried about what'll happen between Robert and Isaac. I'm afraid that Robert will threaten or hurt Isaac. If that happens…Isaac might retaliate."

"Norton and Carver can handle him," said Buckell. "Don't you worry. They'll get him out here and they'll save our asses."

"No, it's not that. Isaac is resourceful and he's…powerful in his own right. He may run away, even if he knows it's us he'll be helping. Regardless of how you feel about him, he is capable of killing Carver and Robert. I know he is. I've seen him fight before."

Santos spoke up. "You think he'd do that?"

"I think that if Robert goes in guns blazing or dismisses Isaac as a potential ally, Isaac will refuse to go with him. And if Robert forces him…that would ruin everything we've worked for."

"That's not to mention what'll happen if Danik shows up," Santos said. "The Church has declared all-out war on EarthGov. We know about Isaac's ability to translate the Marker cuneiform and so will Danik. Whoever gets to him first will directly impact our future."

"Well, there's no sense in worrying about what we can't change." Buckell was firm. "There's nothing we can do except survive another day. Maybe we can get the lights on in this hunk of junk and get air flowing. _That's _what we should worry about."

Buckell was right. Ellie sighed. "I can tell the wasters are losing interest. It might be a few more hours, but I can last. You guys stay safe, okay?"

"Yes, we will. You, too."

When they signed off, Ellie was left again to the dark. Even though Buckell was right that she shouldn't worry, she couldn't help it. She loved Robert, but she didn't love his conceited attitude toward victims of the Marker. She prayed Isaac wouldn't react violently to anything  
>Robert instigated. Without her there, the outcome of their meeting was completely unpredictable. With nothing better to do, she unscrewed the cap of the whiskey.<p>

She raised the bottle, said, "Here's to the future of humanity," and took a shot.

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><p><strong>AN:** I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know of any questions or concerns. Next chapter to be posted 2/18/14. See you then!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Hi, everyone. Sorry for the delay in posting. I had a crazy week at work and forgot to post. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>CMS: ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 10**

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><p>Ellie stared unseeing out central command's wide windshield. Three days ago she had been trapped for eight hours in a freezer. Since then, Buckell and Santos couldn't be convinced to let her explore the ship, alone or otherwise. Even after repeatedly telling them she was fine, they had told her to stay put, but in being cooped up, her mind had time to work. She agonized over whether Robert had contacted Isaac yet or if Danik had beaten him to Isaac or if they were even coming back.<p>

Good news was that Buckell and Santos had fixed the distress beacon. It stood in a corner, the red eye blinking in steady intervals. When the _Eudora _deshocked, at least they'd pick up the signal. Hopefully, they'd see it before the mines detonated; there would be no warning for the _Eudora _about that minefield. At least their food and water supplies were good for many more days, if they continued to ration, but those supplies would not last forever. Until then, Ellie decided to avoid thinking about it.

Their chronometers gave them a sense of time, and they adhered to a twelve-hour sleep schedule at 'night'. Each of them took a four hour watch. During the 'day' they cleaned and fixed their tools, kept up their conversation, and checked the vents. Since Ellie's escape from the mess hall, they'd neither seen nor heard Necromorphs on their deck.

"Ellie, I've got something interesting," Santos called to her. Ellie glanced over. At the captain's station, she'd wired up their charged battery, and had her datapad docked to the dashboard. "I've managed to connect to the captain's log."

Interest piqued, Ellie came to look over Santos's shoulder.

"Here's the last entry the captain wrote."

_[OFFICIAL ORDERS: SCAF-ISC-31295 CMS-ROANOKE]_

_FROM: CAPT. A. BELKNAP_

_TO: CMS ROANOKE COMMAND STAFF_

_Scenario Five cleanup will begin at 0600 hours. All research data must be terminated and purged. All non-essential personnel are to be on downtime until further notice. Confiscate and lock down any and all non-essential weapons and ammunition._

_We conquered the stars. We flew the heavens to find salvation. We were arrogant and we were wrong. How did it come to this? How did it get so out of control? God help us all._

"Does it say what Scenario Five is?" Ellie asked. "Maybe in prior entries?"

"I did a search for the term in all the files on this drive. Nothing else mentions Scenario Five. But it appears that General Mahad took command of the operation and had Admiral Graves confined to her quarters. Why do you think that is?"

"Something defeated SCAF, I think," she replied. "We may find the answers to our questions if we go to Graves's quarters. Is it marked on the directory?"

"Hold on a tick." Buckell, who had been listening without comment, interrupted them. "We agreed to limit our movement on the ship after Ellie's near-death experience."

"Austin, we've been cooped up here for three days. We're no closer to discovering what was found on the planet than we were before. With what little time we have left, we must solve this mystery." Ellie went to Buckell and draped her arms around his shoulders. She rested her cheek against his- -the stubble reminding her of Isaac. "We can't be afraid of the unknown anymore."

Buckell sighed, but patted her back. "Fine. But you're taking Santos with you. The both of you keep in contact."

Santos had queued up the directory on her ever-present datapad. "It doesn't state where specifically her quarters are, but I'm guessing," she pointed to the screen, "here. Four decks down. There's a single elevator that goes to that level, with one large chamber marked off."

They synced their communications link and hooked onto their pulley. Buckell stood with them on the precipice. Ellie was first to descend. She'd gotten the hang of running slack through her harness and controlling it with her hand. The rope hummed in the quiet, somewhat of a comfort because it broke up the weighted silence that pressed on them. Above her, Santos kept some meters between them- -in case Ellie got caught up or attacked.

Once again, Ellie had to pry the elevator doors apart with rebar. There was one direction to go and that was forward. Some light beamed in from windows that faced the dead planet. Bins scattered the corridor, cobwebs and dust coated everything, and several desiccated corpses slumped in shadows at a closed door farther down. Ellie signaled Santos to stay back.

Heart pulsating in her throat, concentration fully on the corpses, Ellie tiptoed forward. Corpses could be corpses, or corpses could be Necromorphs. She readied herself for a scare, for the corpses to leap up with a roar and charge her. When she'd come within few meters, she paused and aimed the cutter at the sprawled limbs. Plasma cracked the air; the corpses remained limp and lifeless as she dismembered them. She breathed a sigh of relief when nothing stirred.

"Okay, Santos," her quiet voice carried down the hall, "we're clear here."

"Coming. I want to see what's in these bins."

Ellie kept watch on Santos as she knelt beside the old bins. She selected one and opened it. "This will be useful. Plasma ammunition. Here, catch."

Santos tossed the cartridge toward Ellie, who caught it one-handed and slipped it into a pocket. The other bins were empty except one that had a soldier's textlog. It was his shift hours to stand guard at the Admiral's quarters, nothing more. They were close. The two corpses at Ellie's feet were dressed in military RIGs. The kinesis modules on the mummified arms had been unused for too long and would not benefit the living. On their belts, the soldiers had a couple more plasma cartridges that Ellie took.

"Ellie, I've found the elevator to the Admiral's quarters," Santos said over their link. She'd disappeared around a corner. "Blast it."

"What's wrong?" Ellie found Santos at a defunct computer station next to elevator doors. They were a few yards further from where they came.

Santos gestured. "These doors can't be forced open. They have electronic locks in place which are controlled from this station. It'll require too much power for our battery. We'll have to circumvent it somehow."

Then Santos pulled out the map from inside her jacket to spread it over the controls. "Well, we could go through ventilation shafts into the elevator shaft."

"No. Necromorphs use those as a main avenue. It's too tight to defend ourselves. If we were attacked, we wouldn't get out alive." Ellie watched as Santos drew her finger over different parts of the map. The Admiral's quarters had several different chambers off the private elevator. One was her bedroom and bathroom, another was her office, and it looked like there was another door. She pointed it out to Santos. "What's this?"

"That's a hatch to the dock for her personal shuttle." Santos leveled a disapproving gaze at Ellie. "We'd have to space walk. That can't be a good idea."

"We're cut off from here. We can retrieve the suits from the escape pod and use them to get to the hatch. Our chances of getting to the Admiral's quarters are much better if we go about it from the outside."

Santos grimaced, but folded up the map. "I suppose we could try. I hope that hatch is available."

They went back to the main elevator shaft to descend to the deck where their escape pod was. The deck was creepy, cut off from any light source, and unbelievably deserted.

"I would like to know where the Necromorphs are," Santos whispered as they stepped out of their harnesses. Ellie flicked the cutter's light around the hub. Nothing stirred. "I hate not knowing."

"If we're quiet and we hurry, we should be okay." She hoped.

They half-jogged the many meters of the corridor to the bay. Drag-marks had obliterated their earlier footsteps in the dust, meaning Necromorphs had been here. Together, they opened the hatch into the bay, and as they did, a distance roar bellowed at them, followed by several more. She went cold and bloodless.

"Oh, shit. Hurry!" Ellie slammed the hatch shut. "Go, go, go!"

Santos sprinted to the escape pod. Ellie followed on her heels. As Santos shimmied into one suit, Ellie set aside the cutter to step into another. The screams and roars of the Necromorphs rang around them, honing in on the bay. There would be too many to fight, she knew. They would soon burst from the ceiling or vents that were out of reach and surround them.

"Okay, I'm good," Santos said, putting on the helmet. It locked with an audible click. "I'll go and get the bay doors open."

"As fast as you can," Ellie told her, zipping the suit over her chest. She clicked the helmet in place, which muffled the incredible noise echoing in the ship.

Santos went into the control office and began to crank the lever that would open the bay doors. From the side streaked a fast-moving figure towards Ellie. She didn't hesitate. The plasma cutter recoiled as she fired shots. A couple glanced it, slowed it, but didn't stop it. Shit. She adjusted her aim, squeezed the trigger. Black fluid splattered out as the handheld lightning smacked into flesh, and the lithe waster stumbled. It clattered to the floor with a final screech.

Another charged at her from the shadows of the bay, yellow mouth and eyes saturating her with dread. Her fingers were nerveless, numb. She shot it without feeling the trigger. The white plasma pushed it back, blew apart its femoral bones and muscle, until it bowed at her from the deck. Three more sets of eyes blinked at her; fuck, she and Santos would be mowed down.

Then the bay doors cracked open. Atmosphere whooshed out. The wasters were sucked right off their feet, screaming and cartwheeling past her. Ellie's boots clamped to the deck, but the decompression yanked too hard. She, too, was swept off her feet, head over heels out into deep space. Her breath fogged her visor, and in a moment of panic, she flailed because she couldn't fucking see and she'd be slammed into a mine if she went out too far.

Everything spun wildly. "Take control, Ellie. You can do it. Use the suit's stabilizers."

Okay. Okay, use the stabilizers. They puffed now and again until the spinning slowed and finally, stopped. She had lost her sense of direction, but she knew she'd faced Tau Volantis coming out of the ship. She realized she was upside down, so she righted herself, and saw Santos hovering by the doors.

"Ellie! Are you okay?" Santos voice calmed her further. "Can you see me?"

"Thank you, Jen. I see you. I'm coming over."

"That was a close one," Santos said as Ellie approached. "Have you changed your mind about doing this?"

Ellie heard the joke in Santos's tone. "Definitely. Let's go back inside, shall we?"

Santos laughed and gestured up the length of the _CMS Roanoke_. "I'm sure I can get us outside the Admiral's quarters. We should get there as quickly as we can."

Together they flew up and over the slumbering beast's skin. The walk was a long one, taking up nearly half of their oxygen supplies. Santos, true to her word, brought them to the hatch leading to the Admiral's level. Graves's personal shuttle was nowhere to be seen, and based on the textlogs, it had more than likely been confiscated. They entered through the hatch, atmosphere hissing into their suits, and took in their surroundings. Another portal stood closed before them. Once past that door, they stood in a richly adorned hall. They had arrived.

"Buckell, we're moving into the Admiral's quarters," Ellie reported. "Sorry to take so long."

Buckell confirmed. "I'm glad you're okay. Be careful, girls. Let me know what you find."

"Will do."

They moved forward into the hall that turned to her private elevator- -the one they couldn't access. Twenty-first century rugs and animals decorated the halls, coated with grime from hundreds of years. Inside her office was decorated the same, but more spacious. Left and up some stairs were a couch, bookshelf (with shabby, worn books) and a couple paintings hung on the walls. To the right was a large window overlooking Tau Volantis with the SCAF fleet's detritus suspended between. Stark light shone in the office across documents and books that lay scattered across the floor.

In front of them, a boxy wooden stand was at an odd angle in the middle of the floor. A corpse- -Admiral Graves, Ellie assumed- -sat propped up against it. She did not leap up when they entered, so she had not been affected by the virus. Her quarters had been her tomb. The air here was cool but stale, the muted funk of years and decomposition tainting it.

Santos moved to the left, up the stairs, to the books and the couch. "There's a powered-down audio log here," she said, "and what looks like some private documents on the shelf. I'll take a look to see if Scenario Five is mentioned anywhere."

Ellie went to the corpse and crouched beside her. Graves's temple missed a significant portion; her mouth and jaw hung slack. Old blood stained the carpet and a pistol lay near her. It seemed to Ellie that Graves had committed suicide. Blood trailed away from the corpse toward the nearest wall. The entire wall had been covered with drawings and Marker cuneiform. With disgust, she realized the writing was a combination of blood and fecal matter. A large image of the Marker had been created out of torn papers from field guides.

She couldn't make out the cuneiform, but she was sure that if Isaac came, he'd be able to decipher the scrawl. One image caught her attention, mainly because it was different from the Marker cuneiform and statue. It looked like some kind of engine or power generator.

"The Admiral was definitely exposed to a hefty dose of the Marker signal," Ellie said to Santos. "She scribbled all over this entire wall."

"She was quarantined for it, I'm sure of it," Santos said. She flipped to the front of another book. "Probably she suffered from dementia or psychosis and was a danger to the fleet. One of her textlogs repeats the same thing over and over. Turn it off. Turn it off. What could that mean?"

"I don't know." Ellie turned toward Tau Volantis. "I think it's clear that the planet is the key to everything. I don't think we'll find any answers on these ships."

"I agree. We need to find a way to the planet."

Ellie went up to help Santos page through the procedures books that lined the shelves. After a couple hours had passed, she felt defeated. It was time to go back to Buckell. When she turned to tell Santos so, Santos was completely engrossed, standing like a statue beside her.

In her arms was a large, leather-bound book. The pages were darkened with age, but the print was clear. "Protocol Scenario Five," Santos said, pointing to the section. Her voice was breathless. "It's a complete wipe of personnel and data. Everyone out here, every commander, officer, scientist, down to the last soldier, was required to commit suicide."

Ellie glanced at Santos. "Commit suicide? Are you sure that's what it says?" She took the book from Santos to see for herself. The paragraph was in military jargon, but the meaning was clear. "I…don't even know how to process this. I can't believe an expedition would require everyone to die."

"Think about it this way," Santos replied. "Let's say SCAF discovered the source of the Marker's signal and attempted to harness it. But when they did, something else happened, something so destructive, so powerful as to be uncontrollable, that they would have to purge everything to prevent it from getting out, to prevent others from carrying it back with them to the colonies. To _people_."

Ellie understood then that Santos was correct. "To stop what they discovered from destroying mankind."

"Yes."

"We have to find out what exactly caused them to initiate Scenario Five and where it is on Tau Volantis."

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><p><strong>AN:** Please let me know your thoughts and any questions you might have. See you (definitely) on 2/25/14. Two chapters left!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Hope you enjoy, dear readers.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 11**

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><p>She and Santos did not run into any trouble on their journey back to central command. They had simply maneuvered to the escape pod docks and entered the ship through one of those hatches. Buckell was very relieved to see them.<p>

"And what did you find?" he asked, after checking them over. "Anything of use?"

"Well, Graves had succumbed to dementia. She had Marker scrawl over her walls and a textlog that showed her insanity," Ellie said. "We now know that Scenario Five was a protocol to purge the entire fleet of data…_and_ personnel. It's why some corpses have self-inflicted bullet wounds and others…don't."

"That's a horrifying thought," Buckell said. He folded together his bifocals to slip them into his shirt pocket. "Anything about the Marker signal?"

Santos answered him. "We firmly believe that the Marker signal originates on Tau Volantis. The fleet uncovered something immense, which initiated Scenario Five. It is possible that the Marker writings in Graves's quarters relate to an object that is on the planet. Graves said to turn it off."

"It could be what stops the signal entirely," Ellie said. "I wish we could decipher that cuneiform. Regardless, it's necessary to explore the military compounds on the planet. There we would know what specific actions SCAF took and what resulted from it."

Buckell snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, we're stranded up here. We've got no way off this ship, even to another ship. Pray tell, how are we going to get planetside?"

"This is the flagship of SCAF!" Ellie looked out the windshield at the debris and opened her arms to it. "There should be shuttles galore sitting around."

"What we need is power," said Buckell from behind her. "We need to start up the core. I should mention that I heard a ruckus down below. Do you have any idea what that was?"

She grimaced, but composed her face before turning around. "Santos and I had a run-in with some wasters. We're okay, though," she added when Buckell's lips thinned. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Ellie! We were nearly killed," interrupted Santos. "It was luck we survived."

"I have a feeling that the Necromorphs are figuring us out," Buckell said, rubbing a couple fingers on his forehead. "The more you two move around, the easier they seem to find you."

She couldn't focus on the Necromorphs. "I agree that we should get the power on. The core should be marked on the map. We'll go there and see if it can be fixed. When we do, we can search for an operational shuttle," Ellie said. "The more we have done when Robert comes, the better chance we have of beating the Unitologists."

"Might I suggest the two of you get some rest?" asked Buckell. "Eat and hydrate. I'll look at the map and figure the best route for you two."

Ellie accepted Buckell's suggestion. She sat in a chair where she could see Tau Volantis and ate the nutrient bar that stuck to her teeth. Three months ago she had met Norton on her mission to Bao Chen. Three months ago she'd gotten the data but had been clipped with a pulse round in the shoulder. Pain had blinded her, but she evaded the Unitologists and had fainted aboard the _Eudora_.

She'd woken up in the _Eudora's_ medical bay. Clean white, straight lines, bright lights put her at ease, and Robert's concerned blue eyes. She'd been dizzy and weakened from the wound, but alive. He'd taken her hand to kiss the back of it.

"You had me worried," he'd said, with a quick smile. "I thought you were dead for sure."

"Takes more than that to kill me," she'd quipped.

He'd outright laughed. "You got spunk, kid. I like that." His gaze had softened then. "I really like that."

She remembered how her heart ached under his concern, how he had felt for her and spoken it to her. He was unlike Isaac in that manner. Isaac obsessed, didn't like to be poked and prodded about his feelings, about what went on inside his head. He didn't like to share with her what he could keep to himself. Robert was a fresh breath of air to her. Was it any wonder why she chose Robert over Isaac? She had to stay under the radar as the Church searched for her, and Robert helped her hide, had gotten skin-close to her, had distracted her from inner turmoil.

Her finger ran over the chain that held the medallion. Would Isaac even be alive? She'd left a message on his machine a month before Bao Chen. He'd neither returned her call nor even sent her a message. For all she knew, that cesspool of murder and drugs and prostitution had sucked him in and destroyed him. But he'd insisted he'd be unnoticed, overlooked, left alone in the tenement building he'd chosen. She hadn't been able to convince him otherwise.

They'd said such things to each other the night she'd left. Such hurtful, disgusting things. She regretted them. Maybe if Isaac did come, she'd make peace with him, settle their affairs so she could cut him loose and be with Robert, healed and free. The sardonic part of her scoffed. Isaac was too deep inside her for that to happen. That, and Robert's cold front in the recent weeks.

Maybe Robert was stressed. Or it could be that he was showing his true colors, which, to her consternation, were ending up against her own. If that was so, why hadn't she noticed sooner? She knew the answer and hated to admit it. Because you were focused on the Marker. You were broken up over Isaac. You were blind.

"Hah! That explains it!" cried Santos, startling Ellie to reality. Santos was hooked back into the captain's control station. "Listen to this. From Captain A. Belknap, to Chief Munitions Officer C. Oswald. Scenario Five is nearly complete. Activate and release all automated mines immediately. Set code to Scenario Five protocol. It is essential that the planet and fleet are protected from any inquiries. The de-shock zone must be fielded in the appropriate formation. Confirmation of mission completion required. Further orders will follow confirmation."

"That does explain the mines," replied Buckell. "What a doozy."

"I wonder if we could detonate the mines so that the de-shock zone is clear," Santos said. "If we get the ship running, of course."

"The _Roanoke_ has cannons," Buckell said. "I noticed them as we were coming in with the escape pod. They might work, but I wouldn't put much stock into it."

Ellie stood from her chair, tired of brooding. "Santos, you think you're ready? The sooner we get the power on, the better."

Santos nodded. Her hands were swift as they unplugged the datapad from the station. Buckell scowled with disapproval from his seat. Blood seeped through the gauze over his wound, and she noticed him wince when he shifted. He'd need a bandage change before long. Before she could glance away, he caught her looking.

"I'm fine, don't worry," he said. "The route to the core is pretty straight forward. Go down the elevator shaft twelve decks. It looks to open directly to the well after a short hallway."

"That doesn't sound too complicated," Santos said. "Let's go."

Buckell grunted. "Not so fast. I want us on a party line. You ladies keep me posted with your movements."

Of course, they agreed. After they hauled up their harnesses from the bowels of the elevator shaft, they eventually arrived to the correct deck. These doors were half-cracked open already and Ellie managed to pry them open enough to slip through. Like when they first arrived, the deck was in absolute pitch black. Her cutter light was the single source.

Ellie made room for Santos on the landing, and to the side on the floor, was the glow of a textlog. Curious, she picked it up and opened it.

[PERSONAL LOG: J. BARLOW, CHIEF ENGINEER]

_Got official orders. Basically everything's in the shitter. Have to scuttle the Roanoke. What a waste. She's too beautiful and powerful to destroy, but orders are orders. Should be me who does it, anyway. She's my baby. I brought her out here, so I should be the one to put her down._

_Gathered the remainder of the engineering crew together, told them to take apart cores in the shuttles and to initiate the release sequence for the escape pods. We are also to initiate the self-reliant gravity mod. It'll make the final shut-down easy if there's gravity. A few of them gaped at me, but when I pointed my rifle at them, and told them do it or die, they shut up and followed orders. Anyone will do what you say for a few more seconds of life. I'll double and triple check after them. Belknap isn't one to accept sloppy work, even at the end of things._

"Oh, no," she said. "Things are looking worse for us. We might not even find an operational shuttle based on this."

She showed the textlog to Santos. The corners of the technician's mouth tugged downwards. "That does pose a problem. Read it to Buckell."

Whispering, Ellie read the personal log to Buckell, who grunted. "We don't know unless we try. Keep going and see what you can see."

The two women exchanged a glance before setting aside the textlog and stepping along the cloistered corridor. Liquid dripped in a steady beat, drop, drop, drop. She hadn't paid attention, but a damp humidity thickened the air. Stinking breath tainted the level, and the metal on the deck and walls was corroded, flaky with rust.

Up ahead a large, circular door barred their path. "Power core maintenance." Santos read from the sign fixed on the portal. "We're here."

Damp had eaten into the locks and clamps, weakening the structure. When they cranked the lever, rust and metal poured to the floor. Instead of opening from floor to ceiling, this door opened on a hinge outward. They were able to muscle it open enough to slip through. Like all the metal on the ship, it creaked and whined with disuse.

Past the door, the chamber stretched into an enormous, open well. A huge track circled around the entire generator. The generator itself looked to have three main parts. Kinesis symbols glowed blue on each thread over their heads. The entire contraption seemed to be part overgrown spider, legs bent and folded in, with a slender cone in the middle. A defunct control station with three vidscreens sat silent and dark at the base of the generator a few meters to their right. Their lights were puny in the large belly.

Ellie described the sight to Buckell, who sighed. He said, "We need kinesis modules to get the beast started. Can you rummage around, maybe find a full module?"

Several corpses littered the deck, wearing the suits for the engineering crew. They would be the best chance at finding a kinesis module. A wrench and a few other tools were left forgotten on the deck. When Santos checked the nearest corpse to her, the arm shifted and in a comedy of errors, knocked a crowbar off the deck's edge. The crowbar caught a few other tools and the whole shebang clanged and clashed into the pit below them.

"Sorry," Santos whispered. "Ellie?"

Ellie gestured for silence as she flicked her light to the area overhead, prepping the cutter for some action. Necromorphs did not appear there. However, a low moan blared from the depths. Something shifted below them, shook the deck. The leviathan. Mouth dry, Ellie grabbed Santos's arm and hauled her into a sprint, her instinct propelling her legs.

From the well, angry red tentacles shot up. Bulbous sacs of infection connected the sinuous tissue together. One had sprouted close enough that they could touch it if they wanted. This one wiggled in the air, a dance of intent, and pounded the deck, crinkling it. Then it swept towards them. Ellie tackled Santos to pin her. Muscle and tissue whooshed over their heads, missing by a hair. Santos groaned. They both were banged and bruised, yet alive. Ellie's eyes fell on the exit just ahead.

"Come on!" Ellie shouted, hauling up Santos. "We can make it!"

She'd lost the cutter during the dive, but she didn't care at this point. They couldn't take on the leviathan without stasis or larger weapons anyway. The low moan carried on, but now other guttural roars and shrieks rose to tune. A vent overhead burst apart and a smallish creature with three tentacles bounded out- -a lurker. Terror in high gear, Ellie didn't even register herself leaping through the open door in the corridor.

Another tentacle pummeled the deck, but missed them. "Help me close the door!" Ellie shouted at Santos. "We have to stall them!"

Weakly, Santos got to her feet, limping to help Ellie haul shut the door. It shuddered closed. Pings resounded off it, what Ellie knew as lurker missiles. Those missiles would break through the compromised metal in no time. Ellie tugged Santos, drove them to the elevator shaft. Her heart was fit to burst, her hands shaking as she stepped into the harness and reached out to help Santos.

They pulled their weary bodies up the ropes to central command. Buckell had shouted himself hoarse during the course of their escape, and Ellie calmed him as much as she could. He was there at the opening, bloodstained and grey, to lend a hand. Fearful of an attack, they shut the elevator doors and slumped into seats to catch their breath. The leviathan continued the long, mournful wails that rippled into the ship's old bones.

Ellie gasped, "Leviathan."

"That's it then," Buckell said to her one word. "We won't get the oxygen going. We won't get off this ship. Damn. We've come so far."

"Hold out some hope," replied Ellie between breaths. "Robert will come. I know he will." She'd almost said Isaac. Isaac'll come. But she couldn't predict him anymore.

Buckell shook his head. "I hope you're right. But what are the odds?" He stood and put gentle hands on Santos's shoulders.

In her thoughts, Ellie echoed Buckell's sentiments. What _were _the odds of rescue? She couldn't even answer it herself. They could only wait and see.

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><p>AN: Last chapter will posted on Saturday. Let me know your thoughts & concerns and thanks for reading. =)


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Welcome back, dear readers. Hope you've enjoyed the story.

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><p><strong>CMS ROANOKE<strong>

**Chapter 12**

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><p>Swaddled in a blanket, Ellie watched out the broad windows of the command deck. Bright sparks lit up the deep void, snaps of fire and unfelt heat. Mines, she guessed. Debris or asteroids often detonated the mines. Sometimes debris or asteroids would pelt the <em>Roanoke's <em>cold skin, sharp, clear knocks that stirred the Necromorphs.

How long had they been stranded? Santos said it would be thirteen days according to her calculations. Ellie had lost count almost the second they crashed landed. The last few days had been agonizing, monotonous, _boring._

In the bowels of the ship, a faint sound echoed up the decks. A metallic whine, a similar clang. Had she imagined it? Holding her breath, she listened, but heard nothing more. Her mind had played tricks on her before, so it continued to do so.

She relaxed into the blanket. Her stomach growled. They had eaten the last of the food supply twelve hours ago. All that remained was a paltry few units of water. Soon, she would have to venture again into the ship to scavenge for food.

Loud, horrifying screams rang out, close enough that beside her, Santos jumped awake. Ellie stood, tense, watching the vents. Those shrieks carried on around them, but after a moment, she realized that they were moving away. Nothing came out of the vents.

"What's going on?" Santos asked. Buckell had also woken and scrubbed his grizzled face with his hands.

Ellie shrugged and peered out the windshield, pressing her face flat on the frigid glass. She couldn't see anything except space, Tau Volantis, and the _Roanoke's _dead body. "I think something's got the Necromorphs riled up."

Faint, distant roars sounded. Did she imagine the quick report of a plasma cutter? The Necromorphs had been active ever since she and Santos had stirred up the leviathan. They had been so active that Ellie had avoided leaving the command center.

"Is it the leviathan?" Santos asked. "Usually if that moves around, the Necromorphs react."

Ellie pushed back from the glass. There was nothing to see. "Earlier I thought I heard something like a door."

"Do you think…do you think it could be Norton?" Santos was breathless. When Ellie looked at her, she had tears streaming from her eyes. "Could we be saved?"

"I don't know," said Ellie, afraid to hope, afraid for Robert, for Isaac. "We'll have to see."

For a long period of time, the Necromorphs would carry on, howling and snarling, and then there would be silence. The rhythm repeated itself until the leviathan breathed a low wail through the innards of the ship. They heard the tentacles slam the sides of the generator well, heard the leviathan cry out until it cut off. They waited.

Then a quiet hum vibrated the stagnant air. Lights and control panels and vidscreens flickered, brightened, came to life. Stale air blew into Ellie's face from the vents. Her relief weakened her, but Santos caught her up in a hard hug.

"Oh my God," Santos cried, "the power's on! The power's on!"

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut, but her tears fell anyway. "It's Isaac! Robert came. They're alive!"

Buckell wrapped the both of them in his arms. The trio had survived. They laughed and sniffled, until Ellie hustled them up the steps to the elevator doors. Both elevators signaled occupants. From the left came Robert. His blue eyes and competent face swelled joy inside her.

"Oh, God. You found us!"

Robert opened wide his arms. "Oh, Ellie, baby," he groaned in happiness when she flung herself to him. "I knew you were too stubborn to die."

The kiss alleviated her worry; Robert was fine, he'd survived, he'd come for her. Everything would be okay as long as his arms stayed wrapped around her. From behind, Buckell said, "Captain, this him?"

Robert released her from the hug, but tucked her safely to his side. "Uh, yeah. That's, uh, him."

Ellie's heart twisted. Seeing him was like a punch to the chest. Isaac was gaunt, haunted, and unshaven. Even though she expected to see him, actually seeing him was much different than she expected.

"Isaac Clarke, great to meet you!" Buckell said. Santos was bent under Buckell's arm. "Austin Buckell, Marker Ops. And this here is Jennifer Santos, our little lady with the big brain."

"If it's true you can decipher the Marker script, this mission might still have a chance," Santos said.

Ellie saw her opportunity. "Isaac, thank you for coming." Robert squeezed her shoulder, and she felt his fingers dig into her soft flesh.

"Like I had a choice," Isaac told her. His sarcasm pricked at her heart. So the distance remained between them, a gaping wound, an unbridgeable crevice. What had she thought? That things would be the same between them? Still, she had to hope.

She tugged free of Robert's grip to move closer to Isaac. "I know. I'm sorry. But I have so much to tell you."

A low, garbled sound washed over them in the command center. Everyone, already rattled, went on alert, tense from the unknown. Ellie noticed Carver's finger curl in on the trigger of his rifle, and the constriction that signaled terror on Santos's face.

"Woah!" Robert said, worry lines etched on his forehead. "Alright, c'mon. We have to get out of here. Now!" He reached for Buckell.

"No! Not yet! Isaac," she turned back to Isaac, to plead with him, "we need to stop the Marker. The trail ends at the Admiral's quarters. She'd written Marker scrawl all over the walls. The answers are in there! I know it." When she looked to Robert, he supported Buckell with an arm, already at the elevator door. "We cannot leave until we know what it says!"

Robert answered her from across Buckell's lolling head. "Yeah, well, then let Isaac handle the translating. We're leaving, _now_. I got Buckell, you get Santos. Let's go!"

Before she could argue, Robert hoisted Buckell into the second elevator. Santos was almost to her knees beside Ellie.

"Go on, take care of your crew. They need you more than I do," Isaac told her.

She saw his profound sadness etched on his face, in his eyes. And she was sorry. She was sorry so much bad shit had happened to him, but he had said what she needed to hear. Without any further words, Ellie supported Santos to the side where Carver held open the elevator doors. Norton, grim, bore Buckell's weight with a patient steadiness.

As they rode down in silence, Ellie hoped Isaac could understand what the Admiral had written and how, if possible, it related to what was found on Tau Volantis.

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><p><strong>AN**: And end cut scene. It's been fun, but now the story is complete. As always, please leave your thoughts, questions, or concerns. Until next time! =)


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